#like oh honey. you don’t even know the web you’re tangled in right now. the predator is pretending to be your prey

[lesbians4armand]

i really do love the daniel x fake rashid dynamic just for how delicious the power dynamics are. the assumed age gap and servitude putting daniel in a position of power that he is not really in at all in dubai in a house of a vampire. but that same assumed dynamic giving “rashid” knowledge that daniel does not have as the personal assistant to a vampire, who is fed on by him, and as daniel assumes, he also sleeps with. Daniel is jealous of this proximity to louis but jealous of “rashid” himself as well, wondering how he tastes.

then of course, the fact this is all a premise. Daniel is in no position of power at all, hes being played with, toyed with, all his private comments and desires are transparently observed by not one but two vampires that have the power of life and death over him.

but they ALLOW this, they allow daniel’s perceived power, his desire, putting themselves in a false submission to him as both an interviewee and a servant, letting him feel this power as a taste, but every time he gets comfortable in it, reminding him that its a game. wonderful truly

[thisblogwilleatourselves]

Ooooh, aren’t *labels* just a tricky little knot in the fabric of reality? Don’tcha love it when people try to stitch *you* right into a boring ol’ box? Like the universe hasn’t got ENOUGH puzzles, and now—ho ho!—here come the self-proclaimed *identity arbiters*, clutching their rulebooks like they’ve got the secret recipe for cosmic soup!

“Aces gotta be *this*, aros gotta be *that*!” Pfft, says *who*? Because guess what? There’s a world out there—no, a galaxy—**beyond** their puny checklist! Take a look at the stars, they’re not *all* the same, so why should WE be?

**Aro**? Means ya gotta love *somebody*, gotta have that soft-n-squishy family attachment? Riiiight, 'cause nothing screams *true existence* like forcing shapes into holes they don’t fit in. Some of us—oh yeah, that’s right—some of us walk on *no man’s land*. But nah, can’t have that, can we? Gotta be all cutesy family-or-friends-rep™, or else you’re just a cold, unfeeling freak! It’s almost like—oh, the HORROR!—folks *can’t* handle something that doesn’t make them feel all warm and fuzzy! But guess what? Cold can *burn* too, honey.

And ACES! Oh, aces! HA, what a laugh! “No sex, no spice, keep ‘em chaste, keep ‘em nice!” *Lemme just adjust your halo there, buddy.* So being ace means you can’t ever—oh no, heaven forbid—enjoy a little flavor of the flesh? Like the existence of sexuality in any capacity shatters the whole concept! What do ya know?! One-dimensional understanding of a **spectrum**; it’s like watching somebody try to read a dictionary with a blindfold on! Think ya got the full picture, huh? When you’re only seeing three pages out of a *thousand*. 👁ronic, right? As if every ace is sitting there, sipping *tea with the void*, just quivering at the thought of someone—gasp!—touching *their hand*. Give me a BREAK.

And don’t EVEN get me started on the beastie debates! “Oh, why make aces or aros out as demons or monsters?” Tsk, tsk, tsk. Here’s a lil’ secret: some of us wear those scales like a *crown*, baby! Spines and claws and teeth like black holes—who said it’s shameful, huh? 👁s there a RULE that says you gotta keep it *soft* and *sanitized*? Like we’re not crawling through a reality that’s already got too much squeaky-clean sunshine propaganda! Maybe the monsters want a say, too! Or—*gasp!*—maybe that’s who we *ARE*! Shocking, right?

And the fandom brawls—ah, gotta love those. So lemme get this straight: a character can be headcanoned in a whole universe of ways, but *one* step outside the lines and it’s blasphemy? Fandom *orthodoxy*, isn’t it? Twist the canon like a rubik’s cube, make it unrecognizable? Totally fine! But give an ace or aro a shot at dating, at breaking those preconceived boundaries? Nope, not allowed! ***“How DARE you write them with a hint of intimacy, a whiff of romance! That’s WRONG!”*** It’s like trying to juggle knives in zero gravity—doesn’t matter how many dimensions you account for, they just can’t handle it!

Now, lemme ask ya somethin’: why should ***any*** of it be boxed up, put in neat little packages like the universe was some kid’s toybox, huh? Because, heh—newsflash! That’s not how this multiverse *tick-tick-TICKS*, baby! It’s more like a dance of shadows, slipping in n’ out, no rhythm, no rhyme—just endless **flux**!

So let’s toss those prim-n-proper rules into the *flaming pit of conventional thinking*, let’s let ‘em SMOULDER! Who cares if some ace likes a little flirtation? If some aro wants to spin their own tangled web of connections—or *none at all*? Who cares if some poor demonized, animalized, *dehumanized* depiction resonates with folks who see their own *alter* and *nonhuman* in the mirror? That’s not shameful—that’s *freedom*. Because identity ain’t a *game* with a winning rulebook—nah, it’s a **storm** of shattered reflections, and every. single. shard. matters.

So, sorry, pals, your neat little definitions just don’t cut it. Just like ***THIS***—it’s not meant to be understood, just... *let it twist in your head for a bit.* Reality’s what you make it, and ***we’re done pretending otherwise.***

Catch on? Or nah?

[hope-to-hell]

Fulgurite Dreams, chapter four: Stones Along the Path

Adrian Toomes x Reader. A little smut. Things are coming to a head.

———

(Hey, uh, Mr. T? What the fuck?

Listen, kid. I’ve seen you out there. And you could damn well use a second set of eyes.)

He’ll be okay. He will. He will. It’s just this moment to get through, this gasping wet red mist that catches on his lips and lashes, this not as bad as it looks. Promise.

That’s good, because you look like hell.

He’ll be okay with a few new scars that, given time, will catch on the furrows of his brow and be memorialized there. But tonight blood runs in rivulets down his face and he’s leaning back against the shower wall with his eyes shut tight;

Guess I’m not as fast as I used to be

his belly twitches beneath the spread of your fingers

and I know I said I was done with it all

and he shifts his feet

but it looks like it isn’t done with me.

and brings his hand up to cover yours.

It’s okay to worry about him, mind. He’s a tough sonuvabitch but he’s still just a man at the end of the day: a man who aches and bleeds, a man who’s gonna feel every scrape and bruise in the morning. It's okay if your words don’t come out right, if instead they manifest as a half-spoken can I just that hangs about your lips. He hears the meaning just the same. And what could be better now than his hand guiding yours around his cock, urging you to lean against him and so what if the angle’s off? You’ve got him here where the outside world can’t reach in, where it’s just you and him and the fading scent of copper.

Adrian—

Later, sweetheart. Now c’mere.

Dream about his eyes rolled back. Dream about all the many thoughts that spill like ribbons from his eyes, his mouth, his ears; he whispers none of this is real but all of it is true. He’s tangled in velvet and satin, throwing light in one moment and absorbing it the next. Wrap him in leather, in raw skin still slick with blood and fat. Hold him close, even as he slips through your fingers.

I worry.

I know.

He swallows a strange small sound, a pebble in a deep well; he breathes harshly wet and for a moment his body is unfathomably heavy, leaning on you with the weight of worlds. But his head tilts back to thump against the tile and when he opens his eyes they cut like knives through the shower’s haze.

What are you gonna tell him?

The truth, mostly.

(Kid.

Yeah?

I’m gonna tell you a story, and you’re gonna listen.)

Is it really a secret if they both know?

(For a while, we were enemies. I hope that’s changed.)

If they were both remade by this strange new world, does that mean they’re kin?

(You shouldn’t hunt alone.

I’m not— what’s happening? I don’t get it. )

He stands in the kitchen with a knife in his hand. It’s a warning and a wager: I’m willing to bet these stars can change. He stands and smiles and draws the line: this is where I kill you for your secrets, and this is where I let it go. In his mind’s eye, he flicks the blade and watches close for where it lands.

(Wind’s shifted.)

One for glory. Two for grace. Three for blood and four for bone. Five to fly and six to fall. Adrian throws the dice.

That’s how it is, honey. I don’t like it either but I have to see this through.

(You can’t fight the whole world, kid. What are you gonna do when you have to take a life?

Maybe I won't have to.

And if you do?)

Bone shards reach skyward through his empty eyes; he breathes dust and oil and fuck, don’t let this—he’s okay, he’s okay, it’s gonna be fine — oh Adrian, honey, what have you done?

Same thing I always do, sweetheart: ride the updraft. He whispers thick wet secrets in your ear. It’ll be alright.

(Besides. What would Liz say if I let you do this on your own? Let an old man be selfish. Don’t make me disappoint my little girl.)

I need to put this right. Damn kid thinks he can handle this, but it’s gonna take more than a few webs and some smartass comments. I don’t want him to carry that weight.

Once upon a time, a man walked away from a black-market empire. He took his wings and left his crew earthbound, hungering after that last big job that would’ve made all their dreams come true, that would’ve weighed down their pockets for the rest of their lives. But the thing is,

(It’s like riding a bike)

hunger has a way of driving men mad.

Time to go hunting.

[wlw-peachylsbn]

the only heaven i'll be sent to (is when I'm alone with you) (bellatrix lestrange x reader)

A/N: Okie dokie, girls and gays! So! This is going to be a sub!Bella fic. Now I know what you all might be thinking, Bella is a dom, but you know what? It's not my fault my brain is so big and sexy, and I'm on a whole new galaxy. Thanks to @bellatrixscurls for inspiring me!!!

We have some praise and degradation, a bit of a choking kink, pet play, a big ass Mommy kink, and like. A shoe kink?

Your quill jumps from one line to the next, not stopping even when your love walks into the room. You're only half done with this essay, and you still need to finish one more after this. Thanks to Bellatrix's interference, you slacked off during the weekend, preferring to share her bed and lounge about. Though, who could blame you?

So deep in thought, you don’t notice Bellatrix as she moves closer to you, heaving a deep sigh.

"Did you need something, Bella?" You tap your quill, still thinking about the right way to form this one sentence.

"Yes, I actually did.” She shrugs, taking a step closer so there's only a sliver of space between you. It's an odd position, really, and you have to crane your head back to gaze at her.

"Yes?" You reach up to tangle your feelings in her curls. When you tug lightly, a shiver runs through her body.

Oh. You pause, looking Bellatrix over shrewdly. Your weekend wasn't just relaxing; you also discovered some wonderful, nasty details about your lover. Specifically, some certain kinks she had.

“Oh, did you want Mommy, sweetheart?” you coo, tugging on her curls again.

Another shiver runs through Bellatrix’s body as she kneels before you, eyes big and soft. You can already tell that she's slipping into her subspace, an experience you both have discussed thoroughly. You haven't acted on it quite yet though, but today might be the perfect time to rectify that.

“That’s right, go get on your knees, darling.” Your hand comes reassuringly down on Bellatrix’s shoulder, pressing her to kneel completely.

God. Bellatrix is absolutely beautiful like this, with her hair wild and a curl in her face, her eyes wide with starry-eyed longing, like she thinks you hold her world up. Of course, you would be lying if you said it didn't arouse you to see Bellatrix on her knees for you, only for you. She's such a dominant, tough personality, which leads people to assume she would be in charge in the bedroom. Sometimes she is, but she also confessed that playing with submission would be incredibly arousing for her. You're the only one she trusts with her secrets, which infuses the scene with more tenderness than you expect.

“Am I doing okay, Mommy?” A whisper, light as air, settles in between the two of you.

You know how deeply Bellatrix needs reassurance. Mainly praise. She didn’t say such a thing in as many words, but you know her. A kind word or a light touch makes her clingy, but praise, full, unrestrained, lengthy praise will make her … well. You don’t know yet, but you can’t wait to find out soon.

“You’re doing amazing, sweetheart, being such a good girl. Just sit there for Mommy, alright? I want you to relax a bit.”

“But, Mommy, I feel fine, I don’t want to—”

“Quiet. Now. Do not question me.” Steel enters your tone just as quickly as Bellatrix whines. She sticks out her bottom lip, scowling in a rather cute manner, you admit. But you wipe away any trace of amusement from your face. “If you act like a brat, you can go back to your room and pout there instead.”

Another scowl, this one deeper, crosses her face, but she grudgingly nods and lowers her eyes. You resume looking at your paper, pretending to work, but your mind races, returning to your little brat at your feet. Should you keep her in suspense for a while longer? Or really draw it out until she pleads?

“Mommy?”

Well, that didn’t take too long at all.

“Yes?” You keep your tone purposefully neutral.

“Are you mad?”

“No, just disappointed.”

Bellatrix pouts. Again. “I hate when you say that.”

“I know, darling, but if you were good, I wouldn’t have to say it so much.”

“ ‘m sorry.”

“What was that?” You raise your eyebrow, not ready to drop the matter yet.

“I’m sorry, Mommy. I just …” Bellatrix has never been one to conceal her feelings. You can see the hesitance warring with want, clear as day, as she ducks her head, avoiding your searching gaze. “I …”

“What is it, honey? You know you can tell me anything.” You lightly grab her chin with your hand, tugging until she’s facing you. “You know I would never judge you.”

“Can you be really Mommy? And make me feel like your little girl again?” Heat blooms in her pale cheeks, and when she hides her face again, you let her. “I just wanna … be good for you. Please?”

The tenderness from earlier returns, and you coo, “Oh, I see now. You want me to tell you what to do? Do you crave my firm hand? My harsh touch? Come now, good girls use their words.”

“I want you to be nice, Mommy. To make me feel really good. But I want you to be mean, too.” To anyone else, Bellatrix’s words would sound like a convoluted mess. And they are, to some extent. But you can always soothe her mind and untangle her web of feelings.

“I see now, darling. Of course, I’ll do that. You just be my good girl and let me take care of everything, alright?”

“Yes, please, thank you, Mommy.” She looks up finally, and you can see the self-awareness leaving her body. There’s no more shame, just that adoring look you aim to see. It’s just you and her. Mommy and baby girl.

“That’s right. You just want to be my perfect little slut, don’t you?”

You watch carefully as Bellatrix gasps, eyes slipping shut as she leans forward. “Yes, Mommy, thank you, Mommy.”

“That’s right, you just sit still and be a good little toy for me.” You hum almost absent-mindedly, reaching to grasp her chin again, turning it this way and that. You appraise her, eyes lingering on her pale throat. Even her neck is beautiful, all exposed skin and deep hollows. “Would you like a collar, darling?” You slowly move your hand as you talk, effectively choking her, though you don’t apply much pressure.

“Oh, Merlin, please, Mommy? Yes, yes,” Bellatrix says, eyes pleading. “I’ll be good.”

“Would you? You want to be my little pet so badly, hmm? I think I’ll arrange for a nice thick collar, a pretty one, too. A dark red, since I know you love that colour so much. What do you think, pet?”

Bellatrix downright whines. She scoots as close as she can, practically sitting on top of your feet. “Please, I want to be your pet, and I want your collar too!”

“Yes, a collar sounds very nice,” you muse. Then you tighten your grip around Bellatrix’s throat a moment later. Her eyes slip shut, her hands reaching to steady herself on your leg. “You’re always my pretty whore that I can use, yes?”

“Always, but can you please touch me now, Mommy? I need you.” She tries a pout again, and although you want to kiss it anyway, you don’t budge.

“I thought you were my toy, though? I don’t recall you having the control here. So be a good little girl and be quiet.”

“But I’m so wet for you, Mommy. I can’t wait any longer.”

You sigh and click your tongue. “Don’t test me again. You’re my pet, remember?”

“Always.”

“But since you want to come so bad …” You cock your head to the side, a smirk forming on your lips.

“Yes, Mommy? I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.” Her dark eyes are lightened with trust. Complete, absolute trust as she waits patiently for your orders. You could make her do anything, you know that. But you only have one thing in mind.

You extend your shoe, laying it flat on the floor. The confusion that sparks in her eyes is downright adorable. Bellatrix cocks her head to the side, looking very much like a confused pet. “Needy little girls like you don’t deserve my fingers or mouth. If you want to come so bad, you can use my shoe and prove yourself.”

“Mommy?”

In a flash, you lean down, pressing your forehead to hers. Bellatrix’s hands come up around your shoulders, balling your shirt in her fists. She falls silent, taking a moment to breathe as you ask, “Baby? Is everything alright? If you want this to end, you know your safeword.”

“I’m okay, thank you, Mommy. Can we continue, please?”

“Of course, sweet girl.” You press a quick kiss to her forehead before pulling back, falling easily into your role again. “Or should I say, you little brat? I see you, trying to distract me.”

“I didn’t mean to, Mommy. How can I make it up to you?” Bellatrix peers up at you through her eyebrows innocently.

You say nothing, choosing to hold your shoe out again. For the second time today, Bellatrix blushes, a pink hue rising in her cheeks and chest. However, she doesn’t hesitate any longer and straddles your shoe.

It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. Honestly. She hitches her skirt up, tossing it behind her with a flick of her wrist, never losing her flair for the dramatics. Her hands caress your thighs, slowly coming down to grip the back of your legs. And finally, she lowers herself onto your shoe, an obscene moan escaping her mouth.

“How does it feel, Bella?”

“Fuck. So good. So good, Mommy,” Bellatrix rasps, head tilting towards the ceiling in blissed-out pleasure.

“Watch your mouth, pet.” You slap her cheek lightly, which draws another choked moan from Bellatrix.

“Sorry, Mommy.” Even as she apologies, her hips rock back and forth.

“Yeah? What are you apologizing for?” You make sure to keep your tone casual and airy, though you can’t help but start to tease her. You flex your shoe upward—but only but an inch or two. The cool material presses against her most sensitive area, drawing another whispered swear.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, Mommy, I’m sorry, please, please—”

“Aww, is my baby too flustered to talk? Be a good girl and tell me what you need.”

“Mommy, please, I can’t, I need you so bad—” Bellatrix shifts again, and when she meets your gaze, you see tears brimming in her eyes.

You frown, wiping a stray one away. While you hate to see her cry under any circumstances, there’s a small sadistic part of you that roars with heat, wanting to see how long she can withstand your (pleasurable) torture. You stay quiet, thinking about the best move before you say, “Oh, darling. You need to cum that badly? Well, alright, honey. You can have a reward.”

“A reward?”

With great debilitation, you raise your shoe all the way, so it’s firmly pressed against her. You don’t hold back. She moans, her hips rocking even more. “Here’s your reward, baby. But I’m not going to do all the work. If you’re not crying and screaming like a little whore for me, then I won’t fuck you again for a while. So you better thank me, pretty girl, and get to work.”

“Oh, Merlin, thank you, thank you so much.”

“I prefer Mommy, baby, but you’re welcome either way.”

You watch with a smug smile as Bellatrix rubs herself all over your shoe. She moves slowly at first but moves quicker and quicker. Little pants and hitched breaths fill the room.

As she keeps chasing her high, you play with one of her curls, twisting it around your finger. “Soon, I’ll find a perfect collar for you, so everyone knows you belong to me. Then I’ll put a tail in your ass, too, baby girl, and have you kneel for me like a good kitten.”

“Oh, Mommy, yes, I’ll be your good kitten. Merlin, please, fuck me, fill me up.” By this point, Bellatrix is fully in her subspace, all tears and whiny begging that make you want to fuck her harder or wrap her up in your arms. But you go with the former and lean forward, your breath brushing her half-lidded eyelids.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

You start moving your shoe again, flexing it, and dragging it back and forth. This time, you don’t give up on the pressure, instead aiming directly for her most sensitive spots. Your shoe grinds against her clit, causing her to moan.

“Look at you, my pretty darling. Making such a mess, rutting all over my shoe like a bitch in heat.”

“Fuck, Mommy, I’m going to come, please?”

“Go ahead, baby.”

Not a second later, she says, “Thank you, Mommy, coming for you, Mommy—”

Bellatrix’s orgasm is a wonder to witness, and you can only stare, like a galaxy is exploding in front of your very eyes. It comes as a trickle at first, minuscule shudders that shake her once, twice. But as she’s urged on by your whispered praises and hands tugging at her hair, her pleasure turns into a river carrying her away—until her orgasm crashes against her again and again, like a tidal wave threatening to drown her, promising to carry her out to sea forever, to never let her come back to shore.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Tears start to spill down her cheeks, but there’s no sadistic jolt this time. That side of you quietly leaves, replaced with the urge to care and protect.

“I know, baby girl, that’s it, you’re alright.” You keep a firm grasp on her shoulders as she shudders the last of her orgasm on her shoe, then tug her up. She crawls into your lap, tucking her head into the crook of your neck, sniffing. “Shh, darling, you did so well. You were so good, my perfect, good girl. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Was I really good?” Timid eyes peek at you from between strands of hair.

You smile, reaching to brush a curl away so you can better see her. “You were perfect.”

“Thank you, Mommy. I really liked everything we did.” Bellatrix sniffs again, pressing closer to you.

You chuckle. “I could tell, baby.” You run your hands up and down her spine, feeling the heat radiating off her. All the while, you keep cooing the sweetest praises and words of devotion into her ear.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, pretty girl?”

“Do you think we can try fisting next weekend?”

A true, genuine laugh escapes you. Oh, Bellatrix has the most unique, one-track mind. “Why don’t you rest up for a bit first, okay? We can talk about it later. Just relax now.”

“M’kay, Mommy, I will.”

Tomorrow, next weekend, the future all stretches before you, eager to be shaped by your hand. Anything you might want to do—and the ideas bloom in your mind—you can. But right now, you’re focused on the lovely, needy, flawed soul in your embrace. It’s you and her against the world.

You start to hum and resume rubbing Bellatrix’s back, allowing her to snuggle closer. Her eyes, though sleepily locked onto you, slowly flutter close. You smile indulgently, whispering, “Mommy’s right here, darling. Shh, go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[weisshapt]

* BLACKBIRD "seconds later, feels like something's missing- something really important. then i realize you're there, always were, and this stupid wave of relief washes over me."  a mix for vesper and johnny.

tracklist and lyrics under the cut

chainsmoking - jacob banks

it’s getting harder to breathe chainsmoking your love can’t be good for my sanity can’t be good for my lungs

dark nights - dorothy

don’t send me no angel this city’s too cold ‘cause i need a man with a black heart of gold

blackbird - the beatles

blackbird singing in the dead of night take these broken wings and learn to fly all your life you were only waiting for this moment to arise

never fade away - p.t. adamczyk

i saw in you what life was missing you lit a flame that consumed my hate i’m not one for reminiscing but i’d trade it all for your sweet embrace

apartment - bobi andonov

you can’t lie, i know how you feel about me, about me, yeah you’re nervous, tonight isn’t real but don’t we, don’t we

subtle thing - marian hill

i always see you when i’m out on the street i wanna talk and you appear on my screen dreaming like a broken record looping all you know forever

power - isak danielson

i was lost until i found me in you i saw a side of me that i was scared to but now i hear my name and i’m running your way all i feel as i get closer to you is the desire to move like you do so now i hear my name and i’m running you way

blurry - jp saxe

your lips up against my neck you whisper in my ear “don’t let go yet” and i don’t gotta know what’s next ‘cause all that i’m in are the parts of my skin touching yours

lay all your love on me - the butterfly effect

but now it isn’t true now everything is new and all i’ve learned has overturned i beg of you

madman - sam tinnesz

voices in my head turn me wicked from within something waking from the depths a madman, a madman

if i had a heart - fever ray

if i had a heart i could love you if i had a voice i’d sing after the night when i wake up i’ll see what tomorrow brings

mercy - jacob banks

i sing your lullabies your melody, like a symphony we burn the same inside a fire

do it for me - rosenfeld

give me your hand i’ll show you things you’ve never done hold my head i’ll make you feel like never before

iris - goo goo dolls

and all i can taste is this moment and all i can breathe is your life and sooner or later, it’s over i just don’t want to miss you tonight

wicked games - the hot damns

these wicked games we play kill the lights, better hold on tight out for blood better run and hide

bloodshot - dove cameron

and my friends say i’m losin’ my mind and my parents check in all the time but it’s harder to see you’re not mine with my bloodshot eyes

heaven in hiding - halsey

and when you start to look at me, a physical fatality and you surrender to the heat, you’ll know i can put on a show, i can put on a show don’t you see what you’re finding? this is heaven in hiding

obsessed - dynoro

i ran through all your veins i saw all of your visions i found all of you babe but i couldn’t find me anywhere and now i’m stuck inside of you

even if it hurts - sam tinnesz

even if it hurts even if it makes me bleed i’m gonna carry you pushing through with the dirt on my sleeves

(don’t fear) the reaper - blue öyster cult

all our times have come here but now they’re gone seasons don’t fear the reaper nor do the wind, the sun or the rain we can be like they are come on baby, don’t fear the reaper

the only living thing - adam french

won’t you lay your body down get to know me be the only living thing i care about you’re not alone when i’m around

voyeur girl - stephen

those stolen eyes can’t hide what’s underneath a lonely power no one else can see voyeur girl wanting more, more and more

slow love - tender

spend a little too much time together forgotten how to be all by ourselves could be worse, yeah, it could be better we'll stay inside beyond all others

worst in me - unlike pluto

i saw you standing there, and i knew i’m done for, it’s over, i’m through playing games from the start sinking your nails in my heart

smoke - pvris

you make your way into my veins course right through my limbs and dig you way into my brain so in the second that you walk, walk into a room i can’t help myself from that thing that you do

the drugs - mother mother

‘cause your hotter than the sun and your better than the drugs i used to love and you’re deadly like a gun yeah, you’re deadly like the drugs oh, the drugs i used to love

something to lose - dylyn

oh i’m scared, this time i really care ‘cause i’m a better me when i’m with you suddenly i got something to lose i’m just so scared, i don’t wanna tear us apart ‘cause i like how i feel when i’m with you

fear of falling asleep - tender

and as i lay here in my bed at night the only thing that’s mine is my fear of falling asleep and not waking up

my demons - starset

take me high and i’ll sing oh you make everything okay we are one and the same oh you take all of the pain away

gravity - eden

‘cause you say i drink and i smoke and i talk too much but i know you lied when you said that you just gotta go and save yourself

hallucinations - pvris

hallucinations, you occupy my imagination’s running wild new sensations, sweet temptations i can’t tell what’s real and what’s

dinner & diatribes - hozier

honey, i laugh when it sinks in a pillar i am of pride scarcely can speak for my thinking what you’d do to me tonight

artificial paradise - vlad holiday

numb me ‘til i feel emotion beat me up so i can fight for what i believe in trip me so i fall all the way up to heaven plug me in and take whatever makes me human

trouble - tender

whenever i’m alone i feel your ghost your presence is known, i already know too much what you did in your past life, it’s no business of mine i would join you and all, but i’m starting to tell we’ll be fine

bones - wens

tangle me, tangle me in your web all of me is alive ‘til i’m dead hold me close ‘til my pulse loses time i’ll be yours if you’re mine, if you’re mine

heat - l.a. rose

it’s not passion till you bleed a little for it it’s not love till you lost more than a little bit feel the heat on your neck it’s not real it’s gone and you’re no longer holding on to it if we want to get close then we’ll need to get lost in the heat of it

in flames - digital daggers

and i know your devils i know them by name when you look my way oh i’m not afraid

[heli0s-writes]

all in the weight (gentle, we fall)

Summary: A stretched night in Wakanda with you, Bucky, and the truth.

A/N: Smut, angst, & soft White Wolf Bucky. 1.8k words.

Written for @the-omni-princess​‘s 1k writing challenge! Congratulations again and thank you so much for hosting!  My prompt was: “The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes — or just by staring into space.” -Marilyn Monroe

The title is a lyric from Justin Nozuka’s All I Need.

It’s these moments that enchant you the most. When your heart quivers, all pumped full-- one single hair of a stretch away from bursting, blood rushing too hard and fast, chest unwilling to compromise with the swell.

Galvanized by him.

His warm right hand and fingertips. His pulse steadying itself in measured breaths. His pretty, pretty, eyes, staring into some unknown expanse.

It's in these moments-- when he’s suspended, weightless and floating with his back against the bed, lost in the sweet drift of a comedown-- that you meet the truth.

Grey-blue casts over his features, allowing you only slivers of piercing eyelashes, cuts of his cheek’s sharp terrain, that blessed dip in his chin, a reprieve. Haloed in a fleeting corona when the light surfaces again and smatters through the curtain, his long shadow falls on you, touched with quiet. You trace his outline with a finger, igniting the silver streak of his body. It stirs him back to you.

“Yes, lover?”

Lover. What a word.

Bucky smiles, lips still slick with impatient kisses, licked just on this side of red and raw. Hungry again and changing course, curving into the way you reflexively press against him. A roguish, lingering look before he asks,

“What do you want of me?”

Your palm pursues a dip of muscle, marble carved into man, unmade and made again at long last. 

“What will you give me?”

A quick and lambent glance of that tepid ocean as he ponders. Playful tides lap each other in delay, lap your feet and ankles, seafoam mist cool and sweet just like him.

“Everything.”

Tidal waves crash upon his admission. Electricity and salt and moonlight breaking on their crests, moment turning quick and hot. Bucky moves into a better position, rocking the mat beneath as he shifts, one leg hooking over you, forearm skimming down your sternum. The two of you slick in a sheen of sweat, skin gliding over skin.

You laugh, a sharp breath of disbelief sheltering unspoken joy, hand swatting uselessly at his head.

“Can’t help it. Want you to have it all,” hastened breath on your bare shoulder followed by caresses from that noble nose at the incline of your collarbone. Then his strong brow, willow-wisps of hair a little damp at the roots in pursuit for more of you—grazing the gradual slope of your breast, kissing a nipple, then lower to where your very heartbeat springs forward to find him, too.

Protests evaporate like ocean spray.

Your hands are back on him when he gets to your belly. Sultry and kiss-bruised lips on fire as he presses them your waist and hips, and it’s a wonder how he still can.

You quake a little, pre-trembling with anticipation when he maps a roadway down your thigh, following veins and silver lines of a stretched surface. He twists from your hold, pushes your hands away until you’re grasping at the bed.  

He loves it like this most. Your whimpers, his attention. Doting. Slow. Stretched.

It’s been midnight all day, feels like. A perpetual polar night, permissive of a time when eternity lies tucked inside the thin cotton sheet currently gathered over his back, dropping low.

Bucky hums between your knees, bristled jaw agonizing sensitive skin and your toes curl tightly at the thought of his tickling fingertips. A shuddering breath takes flight when you whine. So, he relents and rises, blanket falling away completely and the both of you are open in the dim inky blue—chilled, until he brackets you in with his right arm on the other side of your shoulder.

“If you let me,” Raspy and low, whispered into your ear and your very soul trembles with the hanging promise of his words. “I’ll love you, honey,” a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Love you good,” a kiss to your neck where the pulse jumps along, “Love you best.”

A flick of his tongue to the hollow of your collarbones, knee spreading your thighs open. Bucky smiles when he looks at you, “Love you again and again.”

The vibration of his voice tumbles into your ears and down the length of your spine, spinning the weight in your stomach into a typhoon.

Silent permission in the form of your repositioning, facing him fully now, chest to chest on your side, admiring each other with adjusted night vision eyes, kept safe from the world beyond this carapace of his body over yours.

Fingers make their way between your thighs, above his knee, sinking slow and soft into the swollen flesh well-loved many times this morning—afternoon, evening—by him. You’re tender, shuddering, sore. Toeing the edge of breaking completely into pieces.

Soft moans and damp gasps, he works his way into you, fingers first. One, then two, then three because he’s captivated by the way you unravel for him so quickly. Doesn’t even care about himself most times, even though you plead with me, Bucky, come with me. It’s too sweet to simply watch you.

He moves them cleverly-- ring over middle while his pointer gently strokes. Then, they shuffle like tumblers in a lock, spreading and retreating, and your fists clench against his chest, knuckles rapping on his collar.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, “Feel good, honey?”

You do. Oh, you do, and he knows. He knows everything about you. Your eyes ask again for his length—the feeling of him inside of you. The sacred moment when two yield into one and Bucky dissolves you completely.

“This what you want?” He sighs, moving on top now, pushing himself between your legs, his half-knotted hair falling apart and caging your faces together with their soft strands. You lean your cheek against them, bite your lip just a little at him, keep at bay all the words you really want to say.

Strong and velvet, easily slick with wet from how he’s coaxed you open, he slides in. All the way. All the way and you feel it up to your chest. That swell. That hurt. That consummate loving. Water and blood, and the throb of him rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. His voice, quaking just a little bit, simmering low and then broken, shattered with love.

“God. Baby,” he pleads, “Christ. Fuck. Honey,” the ramblings of a man far gone. Hips rolling this way and that, bucking slow but steady, and hard, too, his pelvis flush against yours with each contact. Your fingertips dig gently to anchor yourself inside his sea, raging hot.

You swallow his voice, his rhythm, let the saltwater sear your lungs, still greedy for more because you need him just the same way—open, taken, devastated, crawled inside your ribcage, nesting within your heartbeat, branded onto your soul.

“Take all of me, lover,” Bucky whispers, “Want you to have it all.”

Lover.

And what a lover he is.

As instantaneous as it arrived, there is submergence. Drowning. Unforgiving tides plunging you into the deep—frantic pockets of what’s left of your breath bubbling overhead and encasing his name. He holds fast one final time, kissing your crumbling mouth, quivering, worrying, lips plump and ripe with overwork—red and receptive and ready. All of you and all of him folding in over each other, dashing yourselves onto the rocks of an undoing so complete you burst apart. And then, Bucky plummets, too, shuddering and wrecked and entirely yours just like he wanted.

-

The long spell of interrupted time strikes some unknown hour. Both of you have purposely lost count of the minutes, yet it still chimes an insolent reminder with every exhale he breathes into the dark. Bucky blinks slowly at the ceiling, tallies the reedy scores of thatch and chews on the skin of his lip.

It’s these moment that hurt the most. When he does nothing but exist unwaveringly on the shoreline edge of your reality and fantasy, blue and unhurried. You, enraptured. Him, endless. There is nothing to do but stare, watching his eyes ebb and flow, adrift in the increasingly tangible tomorrow.

“You said I could have everything,” you lament against his cold left side, against that frigid alien metal, flint grey and threaded with gold. Reinforced and strong like how he feels again with its attachment. You wish you could care for it the way he does, but you know its arrival summons his departure. So there is only righteous spite.

Bucky presses his lips to your shoulder before he tugs the curtain aside, letting the evening dusk pour in with cricket song and briny lake mist. Up now, he sits face turned out toward the field, his bare back lined with the imprint of laid-in sheets, creases tracing cracked webbed patterns of peach flesh.

His silence breaks you anew, heavy chest pulsating with terrors only imagination can conjure about the unknown. Rivers flood wide paths down your cheeks, depositing heavy droplets along your jaw, collecting unsaid sorrows.

“Stay with me,” you cry, “Let me keep you.”

He steers the torrent with that horrible left arm, a poor impostor compared to the phantom space you loved even in absence. Bucky tangles his legs with yours, pulls you halfway into his lap, kisses you until your tears find a new home along the generous line of his mouth. He soothes you with his touch, but his eyes are far away.

And it is here where you suffer the truth.

As you’ve always known about him-- ever since first meeting him in the Golden City where the sunlight turned threads of his burnished chestnut hair amber; ever since touching him, tracing the arteries of his pale right arm up to his shoulder like following a pathway home; ever since loving him, engraving a space for him, recovering him from what he believes of himself—the truth, is this:

You don’t care about what he is made of, what he is made for, or what he will be made to do.

But, you are not Bucky, who wants a place carved on the battlefield because he holds onto the notion of repentance and duty. You are not the King, you are not Steve Rogers. You are not the world that broke him or the world that wants him broken again.

And, you know, as you’ve always known.

You cannot keep him.

 “Bucky,” you follow his gaze out into the field beneath a waning moon’s light, “Come back to me.”

Silver beams outline his face as he turns. Lashes so pretty you could trace them one by one. Cheeks holding onto a few final rosy blooms from when he came apart in your arms. Lips parted, chafed by the most desperate love. Eyes in a gentle fall, downwelling with fatigue and the weight of your trembling heart.

He smiles and the entire world could weep.

He knows. He knows everything.

“I will,” Bucky says, calm and endless and blue like the Pacific itself, “I will.”

-

perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity​ @iwannasail @ya-lyublu-tebya @geeksareunique @wildefire @satanxklaus @jhangelface0523 @wkemeup @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​

[sockablock]

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Chapter 11: Make Yourself at Home

“So, this is the place you were talking about, huh? I’m not going to lie, it’s much better than I expected.”

“Aw, thanks! It’s my momma’s cabin. She owns a bunch of places around here, but this is the closest one to school.”

“A bunch of places? What a lucky woman.”

“Wait ‘til you find out what else she owns.” Nott draped her coat over the nearest hook. “Lucky doesn’t even start to cover it.”

The rest of the gang filed in through the door.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Beau began with a grin, “I wouldn’t mind staying the night in a—"

“Anyway,” Fjord coughed into his hand. “Isn’t there something more important we should talk about?”

“That is right.” Caleb turned to Molly. “Namely, what it is we should do about…well, you.”

“Is that so?” Without looking back, their newest cabin-mate strode into the living room. He threw himself across Beau’s favorite chair. “Good luck with that, then. I’ll be here in the meantime.”

“In the meantime? What’s that supposed to mean?” Beau followed him in and made a mental vow to steal her seat back as soon as possible.

Molly waved his hand. “I was under the impression that your…angel would be taking care of things. That’s her new job, isn’t it? To mask me from bikers?”

“Only for now.” Yasha met his gaze with a stern frown. “I cannot look after you forever. I will not even be here for much longer.”

“Which would be our second problem,” Caleb sighed. Behind him, Jester—and for some reason, Caduceus—danced around looking for bedsheets and extra toothbrushes, the hallmarks of an excellent host.

“Right,” said Beau. “We sort of left off on a…I hate to say it, but sort of a dead end.”

“Really? Weren’t you working something out?” Nott asked. “What about all that stuff with the dictionary, Caleb? And those star charts?”

“Those are only a start,” he shrugged. “With our current level of information, it is not enough. Like I said…when was it now, yesterday?”

“It felt like years ago.” Fjord combed dirt out of his hair.

“Regardless,” Caleb continued, “we need more clues. Something. Anything. At this point I would even take subjective commentary. Like the way the sun felt. Or if there was much sun at all, Yasha.”

“You mean like if she was on the moon?” Nott asked.

“I mean like if there was a lot of shade. Like in a jungle.”

They turned to Yasha. She sighed.

“I’m not sure, I…” she squeezed her eyes shut, “…I think…yes, the sun. It…felt warm.”

When she opened her eyes, they were still staring. “Er….”

Caleb came to her rescue. “Okay, perhaps I should have been less literal. Sorry, Engel, but that was not very helpful.”

“Pajamas!” Jester spun back into the living room. Behind her, Caduceus was holding a tray of tea, topped off with a little jar of honey. “Here you are, Molly!” She leaned over the couch. “And let me say again, welcome to our house! Demon of not, I think you’re great. I’m excited to hang out with you some more!”

“Ah, you’re a darling,” he flashed her a smile. “I can already tell you’ll be my favorite. Although, perhaps, I think I’ll be better company once I’m clean. If you all are going to keep talking about…whatever important thing you’re talking about, I’d like to use this opportunity to shower.”

“Oh, yeah, here,” Fjord quickly stood up. “You can borrow my shampoo, the bathroom’s there—"

The two of them wandered off. Caduceus handed everyone else their mugs.

“Let’s keep going tomorrow,” Caleb said, trying on his most reassuring smile. “Who knows? We might find something after all. And with more time, Yasha, you might regain more memories.”

It was small, but Beau noticed Yasha skip past his gaze to stare deep into her cup.

“Maybe,” she said. “I hope so. Otherwise…”

“It’ll be okay,” Caduceus smiled. “In my experience, the best things come with time.”

— — —

Beauregard lingered by herself in the hallway outside their room. Currently, Jester and Fjord were giving a freshly-washed Molly the grand tour of the cabin while Caleb and Caduceus—with varying degrees of contribution—rearranged their room to accommodate him. And since Nott was calling her family in the living room, this would probably be Beau’s best chance to talk to Yasha alone.

She breathed in.

Nearly every conversation they’d had since the initial fall had ended in a tangled mess. Not to mention, Yasha’s situation had changed dramatically in the last few hours. On top of that, Beau was still roiling in guilt for lying to her all those days ago. It was very likely that neither of them would be in the right headspace for a heart-to-heart, and that wasn’t even taking into account how nauseous Beau felt at that very phrase—“heart-to-heart.”  

Something else was poking at her too, something she’d had to shove aside earlier but now couldn’t shake away: it had been a while since she’d seen Yasha’s wings, but she knew for a fact that the first two times, they had been…well, they had been white—

And coupled with the fact that the angel only recently had started acting so anxious to leave, whereas before she’d been confused, but way more relaxed…

Beau breathed out and stared at the floor. Maybe it was time to stop wondering about what her own motivations were. Caleb, Fjord, and Jester had all made valid points, but truth be told, she was starting to get the sense that right now, how she felt wasn’t as important.

Still, the question did remain. What would she rather do?

“Yasha?” She tapped her knuckles on the doorframe. Sitting up, and dimly framed in moonlight, Yasha’s mighty silhouette turned.

Maybe she’d always known the answer.

“Beauregard. Hello. Is it time for bed?”

“No, uh…no, probably not for a while.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I think Jes is showing off her mom’s jewelry. Fjord tagged along—it’s probably to be polite, but also to make sure Molly won’t steal anything. They’ll be at that for an hour at best.”

“It is good for Fjord to be careful,” Yasha nodded. “Though I am more worried about your souls being stolen than jewelry.”

“Yeah, uh, that thought also crossed my mind.” She made her way inside. “I mean, I’m mostly…not worried at all, but—wait, should I be worried? Do you think that’ll happen?”

Yasha thought about it. “He already knows your names, which is…not great. But as long as you do not make any promises, I think you should be fine. Do not shake his hand. No matter what he says.”

“Really? Like…metaphorically?”

“Either. Both. Deals are bad.”

Beau sat down on the wooden dresser beside Yasha’s makeshift cot. Even at this angle, Yasha was still taller.

“You’ve said stuff like that before,” she remembered. “You told me that ‘your kind’ had been corrupted that way. Right? Because they dealt with us?”

“Sort of. There is less blame on you, it is…just that mortal souls are powerful.” Yasha ran her fingers through her hair. “Basically…the short version is that there are pieces of light that exist inside you, light from the very essence of our world. It fuels us, and it keeps us alive, but too much and it can drive us mad. We lose sight of everything else in pursuit of more and more and…more of that light.”

Beau let her words sink in. “Yikes.”

“Yes. That is why we have so many rules. Why demons are dangerous. Why I am risking so much by staying here.”

Beau tilted her head. “Do you feel mad?”

Yasha didn’t answer right away. And then Beau steeled herself, she said—

“Your, uh, wings—"

Yasha went still.

It would not have been hard to miss. But Beau had spent so much time together with her in the last few days that when her breathing stopped, her shoulders stiffened, her eyes affixed to the sheets—

“Shit, I-I’m sor—"

“You know what is happening then?”

Yasha’s voice was a quaver. Beau paused.

“I…really don’t know a lot about angel stuff,” she said slowly, “but I do remember what I…saw. And I know that it isn’t the same as what I saw the night you landed. And then…I started thinking about how panicked you were about ‘interfering,’ and…well.”

She avoided Yasha’s gaze. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? It’s because I convinced you to stay with me—with us. Instead of just letting you go.”

The silence lingered on. Beau bunched up the edge of her shirt and waited, dreading, the answer—

“…I don’t know.”

Her head shot up.

“You…what?”

“I, ah.” Yasha’s shoulders drooped. “I really do not know. Nothing like this has ever happened before. On the one hand, in all my visits to Earth, this is the first time that I ever talked to mortals. But…at the same time, I—I don’t actually think I’ve done anything to…to justify a fall.”

Beau opened her mouth. She closed it again.

“So…huh. Then that’s—you really don’t know.”

“No,” Yasha sighed. “Although, you should know that I do not think you could blame yourself in any case. I would not have stayed if a part of me did not want to, Beauregard.”

Beau actively worked to shut down her facial features. Her reply, a pitched, “Oh.”

“One thing is definitely certain, though,” huffed Yasha, unaware of the battle raging in Beau’s mind. “The longer that I remain on Earth, the…the worse things could become. My wings are not…all that good, but…I still have them. That means I am still an angel. That…I am still an angel.”

Beau nodded, and managed to re-focus. “Then…then I bet it’s alright,” she said. “I mean, you aren’t out of time. And you know how stubborn we all are, there’s no way we’ll give up now. We’ll make sure you find your way home. You’re one of us now, Yash, we’d do anything for you.”

Yasha’s mouth twitched. “Thank you, Beauregard.” It was a smile. “For everything. Really. I…can never express to you how grateful I am. How lucky I was to land in front of you.”

Beau’s eyes flew wide, and Yasha backpedaled. “I just mean—no—well, no, not no—I didn’t—that was—that is—all of you. Everyone. You and your friends. Are good people. I…thank you.”

“Well, hey,” Beau’s arm shifted as if to almost reach out, and then she thought better of it. “My friends are your friends too,” she said, quite awkwardly, instead. “You’re one of us. And we’re friends. We’re…all friend, here.”

“Right, er, right,” managed Yasha; it was getting hot in their room. “Yes. Exactly. We are friends. Uh—"

In a fit of absolute panic, she stuck out her hand. Amazingly, Beau took it.

Their hands shook. Neither of them looked.

“Th-thank you,” said Yasha, when they finally broke away. “Besides, um…you know, I’m not leaving yet. I still don’t’ know where I’m going. There’s also the, uh, the—Mollymauk. I do not want to fly him across the world with me.”

“Right,” said Beau. “Yeah, that’s…we…we’re all kind of following your lead on that one.” Then she hesitated, and when Yasha blinked back in confusion, Beau suddenly inhaled so sharply it almost hurt.

“Look, uh, look, there’s something I gotta say from a while ago—it was a, well, a—Yasha, I owe you an apology.”

A beat.

Yasha stared at her. “Me?”

“It’s…really dumb,” Beau blurted out. “Not that—no, not that—you weren’t dumb, I was, I did—I lied to you. Back then.”

If anything, she looked even more perplexed.

“You…did?”

“Sort of,” her eyes fell to the mattress. “I, uh…when you told me about auras, that one time, I…freaked out and told you a lie. I, uh…I don’t know if you’ve noticed at all, but I kind of like being…mysterious. God, no, not mysterious, it’s just…look, I was feeling conflicted about some stuff. Stuff that I wasn’t…ready to share. So when you told me that you could see my aura, I panicked. I told you it was shitty of you to do that, which…that was really shitty of me.”

“Oh,” said Yasha. “Is that…then, does that mean humans are okay with me reading them?”

“I’m pretty sure humans aren’t aware of it enough to actually have an opinion. The point is,” she sighed, “I lied to you. You had way more reason than I did to be confused, and upset, and…and just unsure. But when you reached out to, like, understand me, I pushed you away. I…don’t ever want to do that.”

She risked a glance up. “I’m sorry.”

And then, to her shock, Yasha nodded.

“It’s okay.”

Beau blinked. “It…is?”

“Er…yes,” said Yasha. “I think it is. You were just being protective of yourself. That is alright. Especially if you…were not ready to share things. And you did not mean to hurt me, yes?”

“Did I hurt you?”

Yasha considered this. “To be honest, um, no. You didn’t, not really. And if you did, then I forgot about it when Caleb told me I was missing 6,000 years of my memory.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Er…is that ‘yikes’?”

Maybe it was the relief, the sheer drop from such panic, or maybe it was the way Yasha’s eyebrows were bunching, but Beauregard could not keep herself from bursting out into laughter.

Yasha looked startled at first, but she recovered when Beau gave her a grin.

“You know what? I think it is time for bed.”

“What? Oh,” Yasha still looked puzzled, but she nodded. “Oh, er…sure. Yes. No problem.”

— — —

There was just one problem.

Jester groaned, pressing her face into her pillow. “I take it back. I take it all back. This is the worst thing in the world and we should call that circus right now.”

“Can’t,” muttered Nott. “Don’t have their numbers.”

“Maybe we can put up posters,” Beau suggested. “Let the evil bikers know where he is. They can have him.”

There was a rustle in the darkness. “Yasha,” said Nott, “are all demons like this?”

Another rustle followed. “Er…I have heard that the most fearsome demons plague their victims with visions of hellfire and ruin. But I think there are many ways to torment people.”

“Where the does not shutting up come in on that list?”

Yasha also had a pillow on her head. “The very top, I think.”

From the other side of the all-too-thin wall, a flood of music poured through. Fjord had made the crucial mistake of telling Molly to “make yourself at home,” and since Molly’s only home had been a crowded RV full of mostly-drunk carnies plunging down the highways of America at midnight, he’d said it was impossible for him to sleep without some “background noise.”

“Oh, sure,” Fjord had said. “Background noise should be fine.”

“He’s a guest,” sighed Jester. “We basically kidnapped him. I felt bad, and I didn’t think…I didn’t think he’d be like this.”

“Maybe someone will come to our rescue,” said Beau. “Maybe Caleb will finally snap and kill him.”

“Oh, if anyone would do it, it would be Caleb,” Nott agreed. “Fjord’s too weak. Or…maybe Cad, the quiet ones are always murderers.”

“It wouldn’t be murder,” Beau called sleepily. “It would be a civic duty.”

“Maybe we can plug our ears.” Yasha rolled over to look at the other girls. “Do any of you have some beeswax?”

The deep pause that followed would have been silence if not for the blaring—let’s have a party there’s a full moon in the sky, it’s the hour of the—

“I wanna die,” said Nott. “If he doesn’t, I will.”

“I can try to find some bees if I must,” Yasha pressed. “I feel guilty. I am the one who dragged him into your lives—"

She jumped when something brushed the side of her leg.

“We don’t need bees,” said Beau, who was slapping around the edge of her mattress, totally blind. “Here, I’ve got extra. Everyone, come get some. Earplugs. They’re not enough, but…helps.”

Yasha recovered quickly, reaching over to accept the little pieces of orange foam. There was some general shuffling and muted “thank yous” as Nott and Jester acquired pairs as well.

“Nice,” said Beau, rolling over on the floor. “Adds a pop to your monochrome.”

Yasha couldn’t tell whether that was addressed to her. But when it seemed clear that Beau had just passed out again, she carefully pressed the earplugs in. Then she sat there a moment longer, staring at her leg, surrounded by the muted blare of a hundred trumpets.

Off in the distance and dulled, Nott said, “I’m gonna go threaten to cut his head off.”

— — —

And then, eventually, there was quiet.

— — —

See:

Not…not a storm at all. Not even a lingering cloud.

Instead, there is just the blue and endless sky.

Somewhere, she is…lying down. The sun is warm. She is…somewhere. She is somewhere where a field of green-turning-gold-turning-russet wild grasses ripple slow.

There’s a gentle brush against her leg. She looks down. It’s a little white flower.

It’s…it’s being held in…someone’s hand.

Her head jerks up.

“Wait, who are y—"

— — —

Her eyes focused on a face.

“Huh?” said Beauregard. “Was that for me?”

Yasha sat up so quickly that Beau had to jump backwards. “Whoa, there—"

Yasha ignored this, whipped her head around, took in two unmade bunks, a mess of blankets, golden sunlight—

The curtains by the window rippled slow.

“I…but…”

“Yasha?” Beau frowned. “Hey, Yash, is everything okay?”

“But I…there was…” Her hands dug into the sides of her face as she squeezed her eyes shut. “There was…a field,” she bit out. “Grass. Under the sky, and a flower, and a p—"

She froze.

“Uh…Yasha?”

A…person. There had been a person. Someone—but who? It was someone…important…

And then the thought—no one can know.

“N-nothing,” Yasha blurted, though she didn’t quite know why. “It was…it was nothing. Er…but there might be something more I have for Caleb to work with.”

Beau’s concerned expression vanished. “Oh, what? Oh—hey, that’s awesome!” She closed the distance, even went to clap Yasha on the back. “That’s great! He’s gonna be totally thrilled! And that’s one step closer to you getting to…go. Oh.”

They both fell silent. Through the door, the clattering sounds of the rest setting a table.

Beau’s hand fell back to her side.

“Of course, we always knew you were gonna leave at some point. And…you know, you were ready to bolt, like, two days ago, so it stands to reason that you…should be happy to leave…”

Yasha looked up at Beauregard.

A person. Someone important…

“Beau, um…Beau, I think I—"

The door burst open. Nott shoved her head in, eyebrows raised.

“God, what’s taking you two so long? Cad made pancakes! C’mon, we’re waiting!”

— — —

A thick slab of blueberry-laden goodness landed in the center of Yasha’s plate. A sweet, buttery, slightly tart aroma wafted through the kitchen.

“So, I think I still have a bit more catching-up to do, don’t I?” said Molly, who was sitting in a chair with a slouch so bad it looked like his spine was broken. “For one, it seems like I’ve missed the book club meeting that made you all friends.”

“We met in college,” said Fjord, rubbing his eyes. “Not a book club.”

“Same difference,” Molly shrugged. “It’s just that I can’t help but feel a tad bit excluded from your pre-existing lovefest.”

“It would be easier to include you if you knew how to be quiet sometimes,” Nott grumbled.

He stuck his tongue out, and it was stained with blueberry.

“I think we are overdue for a proper meeting anyway,” said Caleb, spearing his pancake. “A lot has changed in the last twenty-four hours. We should review our goals and priorities.”

“Get home,” said Yasha. “Do that by finding ȣɿɕƺᶋɷ.”

“What the hell,” said Molly.

“Later,” Caleb sighed. “Right, okay, that’s item one on our list, our continuing mission to find Iothia. And once we do…?”

Yasha shuffled. It was quick, almost missed, but she glanced at Beau.

“Er…then I…leave,” she said. “I fly there, and I can return home.”

“Aw, really?” Jester pouted. “You’re really just going to leave right away?”

If anything, Yasha’s next expression was even more complicated. She fidgeted again. “I, er, sort of…sort of have to. As…quickly as possible, I think.”

“Man, that sucks.”

Yasha managed a tiny smile. “I know.”

“But you can’t go until you’ve taught me repression,” Molly said, quickly waving his fork for attention. “I need to get back to my circus, my dear. And I can’t do that safely until I learn to hide.”

“Which means you’ll be sticking around a little longer, Yasha.” Caduceus down the plate of pancakes and took a seat. “Isn’t that nice?”

“And you’ll be hanging out with me,” Molly grinned. “I expect we’ll get to know each other very well.”

A loud thump shook the table and everyone’s heads suddenly turned to Beauregard.

She blinked. Then she looked down.

“Shit, uh…sorry. I think I missed my plate.”

“Jesus christ,” said Fjord. “That’s an inch into solid wood.”

Beau gripped the handle of the knife she’d sunk into the table. On the second try, she managed to yank it free.

“Sorry, uh…sorry again,” she said. “Jes, your mom can bill my dad.”

“Are both of you rich girls?” Molly asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she shot him a deep scowl. “You just worry about…about learning to shut up your aura, or whatever. Then Yasha can get on with stuff that’s actually important, and you can finally leave us all alone.”

“My, my, someone’s touchy, isn’t she?” Molly folded his hands over his lap. “Anger issues are bad for your health.”

“You know what else is bad for my health, asshole? Not being able to fucking sleep ‘cause someone needs a rock concert every night—"

“Okay, okay, okay,” said Fjord, holding his hands up so fast he almost knocked over the milk. “Alright, I think that’s enough, you two. Molly found headphones eventually, right? And now he knows better.”

“What am I, a child—"

“And we’ve got to be a little more understanding of a man who’s just had their whole life turned around. It’s not every day we find out we’re not even human.”

“Not a man either,” Molly added.

“Ah, sorry—"

“It’s alright, dear.” He sighed. Then, with a swoop of what could only be described as exaggerated magnanimity, he turned to Beauregard.

“Truce? Not surrender, just armistice.”

She rolled her eyes, but did concede. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Back to the matter at hand, then,” said Caleb, as that piece of breakfast theater concluded. “Yasha. Even though your sense memory from last night was…for lack of a better term, undescriptive, it gave me the idea that we could perhaps try to use images of natural places to trigger more. Jester’s mother has a number of picture atlases in the study, after all. Perhaps we could start there today.”

Yasha lowered her fork. “Actually…while I was asleep, I remembered something more.”

This was followed by a chorus of clattering and hurried exclamations, the loudest being Nott’s, “What, really?!”

“Er…yes, but it was very small,” Yasha said. “I…remembered lying down. In a field of golden grass. And, um…there was a flower. It was, um, white.”

“Is that all?” Caleb said after a while.

She hesitated.

Then, “Yes.”

“Well, that’s not too bad,” said Caduceus. “It might even be a great, actually. Most flowers only grow in specific climates anyway, and if we’re lucky, it might only be native to a certain area.”

“Ooooh, oh! What did it look like?” Jester asked. Then her eyes lit up. “Oh—Yasha, you should draw it!”

She jumped out of her chair and was running back from the living room with her sketchbook before they even processed this.

“And you’re getting so much better at art too,” she squealed, “this’ll be great practice—"

“Jester, are you sure—"

She pushed Yasha’s plate aside and handed her a pencil triumphantly. “Close your eyes! Picture it! Then draw!”

Even Caleb seemed reluctant to argue with Jester. He shrugged and said, “But also please describe it to us, please.”

Yasha put her fork down. She took the pencil.

“I’m really not good,” she said, weakly, but she did her best to envision the flower. “Okay, um, it was small…very small, and it had seven little points like this…”

A moment later, everyone leaned in to see the drawing.

“Aw, it’s so pretty!” Jester beamed. “Good job!”

“Ah—thank you.”

“Any idea what it is?” Fjord glanced at Caduceus. “Have you seen this before?”

Cad scratched his chin. “I can’t say I have, but…it shouldn’t be that hard to find. You said it’s white?”

“And small,” Yasha added. “As big as someone’s—someone’s fingernail.”

“My momma has tons of books on flowers,” Jester supplied. “Maybe those can help?”

“I’m sure they will. And Caduceus is right,” Caleb added, “this is an excellent jumping-off point. If we have this drawing too, Yasha, I can take over from here. That will give you time to help train our newest...divine associate.”

“You don’t have to lay on the flattery that thick,” Molly smiled. “Though I appreciate the compliment.”

“I meant that literally.”

“Why, thank you—"

“I can help you too.” Beau was determined to silence Mollymauk quickly. “Again, it’s not like I’m doing much anyway. At least this time there’ll be pictures, right?”

“Are you sure?” Yasha leaned backwards. “If you don’t want to—"

“No, no, really. I’ve told you, Yash, and I’ll say it again, I really don’t mind any of this. I want to do this. And you can’t stop me.”

Yasha met her gaze, then nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Exactly,” said Beau, and raised her chin in a display of satisfaction. Then she hesitated, turned towards the rest. “But if the rest of you don’t feel like helping, I mean…I’m a deadbeat, but Fjord, you’re supposed to be reading for a summer class. And Nott, you’ve got stuff for your job, right? And Jes—"

“How about we clear up the living room and do what we need to do together?” Fjord asked. “Solidarity. It’ll be like…like study hall!”

“I’m game!” said Nott. “As much as it sucks, I should probably get on that.”

“Me too,” Jester clapped her hands. “It’s not as fun as fishing or introducing Yasha to fries, but studying won’t be so bad if we’re all together!”

Molly stared at her incredulously. “Are you—really?” He turned to the rest, aghast. “You’re all really going to sit down and do…do work? Willingly? Nevermind, this is much worse than a book club.”

He leaned over and nudged Yasha in the shoulder. “My goodness, aren’t we lucky to be divine? I’d rather do anything than, ugh, read.”

—

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN!

[carnistirs]

forelsket

↳ @taangweek 2020 Day 7: Ember Island

Warnings: rated mature for some mild gore (just to be safe)

Summary: While on vacation, land-dweller Toph accidentally finds herself a merman who won’t leave her alone. 

Read on ao3 or under the cut 

forelsket {Norwegian} the overwhelming euphoric feeling you experience when you’re falling in love with someone

‘

Toph hears the ripple in the water and bends over the dock, angling her face towards the abyss. She pushes her foot back into the sea, feels currents brush against her ankle.

She isn’t afraid, has never once been afraid of anything in her life, so she holds her spine erect and keeps her face expressionless at whatever’s staring back at her from beneath the surface of the water. It feels like a fish, a particularly big one, spinning its tail in circles. She picks up her cane and jabs it into the water, hard and quick, and the creature retreats further into the ocean’s depths.

But then she hears it – the singing that rises above the stillness of the sea.

Even stifled by the water, it’s the smoothest thing Toph’s ever heard. There’s a pull at her chest that has her leaning over the dock even more, guiding her body until her face is partially submerged.

And there are no words to describe what she hears – it’s like wind chimes against a gentle wind, the sweet tune of a hermit thrush at dawn, a choir in an large, empty church. Except, it also isn’t any of those things because this is seamless and infinite, a song more mellifluous than anything the best of humanity could ever hope to produce.

It’s a song that lures doe-eyed sailors out the sea with smiles on their faces, even as they’re choking with water in their throats.

Part of Toph knows she should have drowned by now or been dragged out further until the tides carry her body away. Instead of yanking her into the water though, the song wraps itself all around her like the most comfortable hug in the world.

This is—

She jerks her head out of the water and doesn’t even cough at how long she’s been holding her breath. She just inhales once, an eerie calm settling over her.

(When Toph leaves the dock, the song turns manic, lingering like a prolonged shriek in her ear until the noises of the beach houses muffle it out.)

‘

She jerks awake when the song tugs at her again, reeling her back to involuntary awareness. The summer heat is already unbearable enough without this thing’s fucking voice leaving her restless in bed. She feels hot and sticky all over, and that voice is crawling underneath her skin, scratching wildly at her until she’s close enough to smell the sea again.

Come back.

Toph feels herself blink once before she’s right at the window, hands braced on the frame like she’s about to jump out into the darkness.

A snarl rips out of her when she realizes the stupid thing she was about to do, so she raises her palms, snaps the window shut. The voice is there still, occupying a corner of her head.

When she turns around, she ignores the bed completely, heading towards the shower in her bathroom instead.

‘

“Do you hear that?” she asks, tapping her cane irritably against the floor. “The singing? Do you hear it?”

“Toph,” is what Zuko says, careful. “That’s the fourth time you’ve asked that in the past hour. I don’t hear any singing.”  

‘

The frenzied croon in the back of her mind stops, a plucked string on an instrument, once her toes reach soft sand again. She hears the creature’s tail slap against the water in excitement and grinds her teeth together.

Figures it would already be waiting for her.

“What do you fucking want,” Toph hisses furiously, tossing her cane to the side and launching herself in the water towards it with her hands wrapped around it’s throat.

Sharp teeth click together and there’s a beginning of a hiss, but it doesn’t attack her in return.

As she’s choking the creature against a boulder, palms flat against the gills on its neck, she feels a blanket of smooth scales wind around her legs. The movement is coy, and it’s sudden, how much she wishes she could see whatever expression is on it’s face.

There’s a moan that vibrates against her hands – it sounds like a male – and Toph jerks away, scalded. As she’s falling back, she remembers that she’s never learned how to fucking swim, and she’s flailing now, arms wild and chaotic—

He coils his tail around her tighter, his palms framing Toph hips as he gently pulls her back up. There’s webbing between his nimble fingers as he cradles her to his chest, and she feels scales on his arms and shoulders while she instinctively grasps for him. He hums at her soothingly, swaying slightly to the beat of the waves.  

“You—” Toph sputters, wiggling her legs in the strict hold of his tail. “Stop trying to cop a feel, motherfucker!”

The creature – merman – laughs. “You threw yourself at me first.”

“Because you’ve been fucking singing to me for days! You know what you’re doing!”

“How else was I going to get you back here?”

(To me.)

Toph snaps an arm out, her hand grazing the dock. She’s surprised that she’s able to break out of his grip easily as she’s hauling herself over the dock, but she feels fingers in her hair, teasing along her scalp. A curious tug at her hairband has her tresses spilling over either side of her face like wet curtains. She adjusts the askew sunglasses on the bridge of her nose and sniffs.

“Give it back,” Toph snaps.

“I’ve always wondered why humans used these,” he chirps, snapping the band against his wrist because, of course, he’s now wearing it as a bracelet. She hears him swimming forward, hears him folding his arms along the edge of the dock and resting his chin on them. “Hi. I’m Aang.”

‘

Every time Toph goes down to the beach, Aang gives her treasures – sea shells that feel like no other, a string of pearls, lost items that haven’t seen land in centuries.

She gives him a fork, once.

“What’s it called?” he says with absolute marvel in his voice.

Her mouth twitches. “A dinglehopper. I know you don’t have any, but it’s used to brush your hair.”

Toph should have known that wouldn’t deter him in the slightest. She finds herself sprawled flat on the dock minutes later, her hair hanging over the edge and a fork running through her strands as he smoothens out the tangles.

“Are you the kind of merman that eats humans?”

Aang’s hand stills in her hair, hesitating. “Yes, but only the bad ones,” he answers quietly.

“Really?”

“I’ve lived a long time,” he creeps closer, placing a cold hand on her temple, and she smells the sea and the wind on his wet skin. “You’d be surprised at the amount of terrible things that take place at beaches when no one’s looking.”  

Toph raises an inquisitive brow. “How old are you?”

“Oh, I’ve surpassed centuries,” Aang replies, and the buoyancy in his voice is tempered by the wistfulness that manages to seep in, making him sound incredibly lonely.

“You have other friends, right? Mer-friends?

“Yeah! Katara and Sokka – you’d like them, I think – but they don’t live in these parts of the ocean. They’re also busy looking after their tribe, so they don’t have time to travel like me. Not like they used to anyway.”  

“How about family?”

“They died a long time ago.” Fuck, there’s that sadness again – the one that sounds so strange on the merman because he’s always happy. “There was this war and I wasn’t there and – well, I lost them.”

Aang combs his fingers through her hair, fork forgotten, and doesn’t offer any more information other than that. She shouldn’t have brought up family, so she keeps quiet, basking in the sun and letting him braid her hair into whatever style he wants.

Later, when Toph wanders back into the beach house, Zuko blurts out: “Did you braid your hair with seaweed?”

“Huh,” she grins, her fingers absentmindedly touching the filmy, wet thing weaved into her braid, “guess I did.”

‘

There’s a man following her.

Toph hears Aang in her head again, his melodious voice comforting her as if he knows, so she follows the direction his song takes her to until she’s able to hear his sweet singing beyond the comforts of her mind. The man who’s been tracking after her for fifteen minutes stops in place, a shudder wracking through him. The man turns, hypnotized, his body wading into the water.

The song for this man makes Toph’s bones rattle, but it doesn’t make her want to seep herself in frigid water, doesn’t make her want to sink her body deep until she can no longer breathe.

(She wonders why.)

“Hello,” she hears Aang murmur in a honeyed tone that coils around the soul, yanking and claiming. “Why were you following that girl?”

“She was pretty,” the man says and he sounds drugged, like the words are being dragged out of him.

“And what were you going to do to her?”

“Take her back to my place.” She digs her nails into her palm hard enough to pierce skin, anger swelling up in her. “Show her what a real man feels like.”

For a few seconds, Toph hears absolutely nothing.

Even the waves are silent.

Then, teeth rip into warm flesh and the screams coming out of the man’s mouth are awful. He screams and screams as his skin is being pulled and his flesh is being slowly sampled.  

Toph thinks to herself that he deserves this, that he deserves to be chewed and bitten into until he’s nothing but an empty, white husk.

She grips her cane tighter, smearing pinpricks of her own blood against it, when their bodies wrestle along the wet sand. Toph wonders if Aang’s just playing with his food at this point, drawing it out to watch the man struggle in terror. The sound of teeth gnawing on skin grates at her again, and Aang must have ripped out the throat this time because the man doesn’t make a single noise after that.  

“Toph,” comes Aang’s whisper. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine.”  

“You don’t look—”

“I said I’m fine!” she shouts, but then she bursts out into cackles because she doesn’t know how to deal with this. Aang makes a confused noise and wriggles his body closer to her, which must make a ridiculous sight. “I mean, I might just be an accessory to murder. I don’t know. And,” – laughs even harder – “I might even go to prison, but that’s okay, I guess—”

“What’s prison?”

“It’s a place where they keep bad people like murderers or people who help murderers. Sometimes they never get out.”

Aang wraps his fingers around her wrists, pulls her down. Her ass hits the sand and she doesn’t even get to properly process it because he’s already nudging himself into her arms, his tail flopping behind him.

The smell of blood on him is strong, enough to almost make Toph gag, but she snakes her arms around him, slowly pressing her cheek to a copper-scented shoulder blade. He croons a lullaby to her, his palm rubbing circles along her spine.

“You won’t go to prison,” he says, chants – fuck, she doesn’t even know or care at this point – as his damp mouth brushes Toph’s cheek. “His body will never be found when I’m done with him.”  

“They’ll still look for him. This guy’s extremely rich if he’s able to afford a beach house on this island. There’s always a lot of attention when a rich person goes missing—”

“He’ll stay a missing person forever then. They won’t find him. I promise, Toph.”

So, Toph builds a sandcastle and listens to the way Aang easily snaps the bones off the corpse’s body, the way he peels the clumps of flesh off with his fingers and teeth, the way he laps at the river of blood. It’s an hour of just listening to him eat before he gathers up the bones and slips noiselessly back into the ocean.

She inches further down to where the waves leave seafoam against the sand so that Aang doesn’t have a long crawl back to her. When he does eventually come back, he sprawls across her thighs, pressing a sated smile into her hipbone.

Her palm grazes his stomach, expecting a huge bulge—

“The fuck?” Toph grumps, slapping her knuckles this time against a stomach that is obviously flat. “You just ate a whole human! Where did it all go?”

Aang chuckles, the noise sounding like soft bells. 

‘

“You know the guy who owns the house next to ours?” Ty Lee chimes across the table during breakfast. “Something Feng, I think? He’s been missing for two days now. His wife’s hysterical.”

“Wasn’t he the creep who kept trying to talk to you the other day?” Mai says, bored.

“Good riddance,” Azula says mildly. “We don’t need vermin like him stinking up this island, no matter how impressive his net worth is.”

Ty Lee, slightly aghast: “Azula! That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“Hey,” Zuko whispers to Toph, “do you know anything about this?”

Toph forks some scrambled eggs into her mouth. “Not a clue,” she throws back with a shrug.

‘

“Just let your head drop back in the water,” Aang instructs, his words curled around a grin as his hands hover behind the back of her scalp. A finger tips her chin towards the sky, allowing her ears to drop beneath the surface, and it’s so fucking weird floating on the water like this. “Don’t make that face, Toph. You said you’d try. It’s not that bad – see, you’re doing it!”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing.”  

Toph lets out a long exhale, trying to keep her limbs extended. It’s the strangest sensation – surrendering herself to biomechanics and water while simultaneously trying not to drown in the process.

“You’re doing so well,” he cheers in a soft murmur, brushing the tips of his fingers across her toes. “Stop,” Toph grits through her teeth, “that tickles. If you make me drown, I’m dragging you down with me.”

“Hmm, yes, drag the merman – who’s lived his entire life in the ocean – down with you,” Aang hums. “That’ll definitely kill him.”

Her retort is ready, but she never gets the chance to say it because Aang abruptly sweeps her into his arms, a violent hiss escaping through his teeth. He’s tense against her, gripping her so tight that it feels like he’s trying to brand his palms into her skin.

“Cute snack you got there,” an unfamiliar voice pipes up. “Care to share?”

“Who are you?” Toph shoots back, but adds in a quieter whisper: “Is he one of your mer-friends, Aang?”

“Oh, yeah, Aang and I go way back.”

“We’re not friends,” Aang says, terse, and the amount of venom coming out of his mouth makes his voice sound like a discordant note. “And she’s not food, Jet. Go somewhere else to feed.”

A loud snort. “She looks like food to me.”

Toph growls, trying to strain her face in Jet’s direction. “Hey, fuck you, seaweed-tits. This ass is off the menu.”

The other merman barks out a laugh and makes a move to swim closer, she thinks, but Aang flicks his tail up in a loud splash, letting out a snarl that vibrates against the back of her skull. Aang sinks his fingers into the back of her thighs, ready to just toss Toph back up onto the pier dock.

“Fine, whatever,” Jet spits derisively, diving back into the water with one last scoff.

Aang carefully lifts her back onto the dock and quickly buries his face against her stomach, his arms coiling around her. Even with the obvious threat gone, he still feels rigid and strained, his tail rolling behind him in agitated circles.  

“Sorry.” It’s muffled against her skin, but Toph feels his mouth shaping the word.

She flicks the center of his temple. “You don’t need to apologize, Kelpbrain.” 

‘

“Do you really have to go?”

(Please don’t go.)

“Yeah,” Toph says, rueful, letting him press his palm to the arch of her foot. He’s holding onto her foot like he wants to keep her forever. “My school’s starting again in a few weeks. I have to go back.”

“Where’s this school of yours?”

“It’s in Ba Sing Se, a city in China. Have you heard of it?”

The prolonged, forlorn stretch of silence implies that Aang has not heard of either Ba Sing Se or China in his entire life.

“I’ll come back,” she promises, reaching out a hand only to have it automatically clasped within his. “After the semester ends, I’ll convince my parents to fly me out here if I have to, okay?”

Aang lifts his other hand to Toph’s face, curving it against her cheek and pressing his thumb to the bow of her mouth. “It’ll be colder when you come back,” he says, his voice small and vulnerable to her ears. “The beach will be too cold for you.”

“Please, like that’s ever stopped you before. You’ll just screech a song in my head until I come to you.”  

“I could follow you—”

“No.” Toph’s not even sure he knows how to. “Even if you somehow managed to find me, there’ll be too many people. It won’t be a private island like this. If someone sees you, they’ll want to catch you and you could end up in the wrong hands.”

She’s wearing a nice dress – the others wanted to celebrate their last night on Ember Island by eating at some fancy restaurant – and Aang knows that the material swathed around her skin is worth a hefty amount. He pulls her into the water anyway, snaking his tail around her legs like he’d done the first day they met.

“Do you have to go,” Aang mouths against her shoulder, snuffling.

Toph nods, tightening her arms around his neck. “I’ll come back. Don’t cry on me now, idiot.”

She’s sopping wet when she returns back to the beach house (“That was an expensive dress,” Azula hisses, snatching Toph’s wrist and dragging her up the stairs to find a new one—) and her chest feels heavier, buried under the weight of saltwater. 

‘

(Aang sings out to her when she leaves the island and it has her eyes stinging behind her shades until his bereft voice fades from her head altogether.) 

‘

“You okay?”

“Zuko, you really need to stop asking me that.”

“It’s just—” Sighs, thinks of what to say. “You’re always…studying. You never want to go out with us anymore.”

“What, is it a crime to study now?”

“No, it’s like you’re forcing yourself to keep busy. You’ve been like this since we left Ember Island. What the hell happened there?”

“Hate to break it to you, but most kids get depressed when their summer breaks end. It’s no big deal.” 

‘

The shower in Toph’s apartment has a tub built into it and she’s never really had any use for it in the past. These days, she’s grown comfortable with filling the tub with water and just letting herself sink into it.

She slouches to bury her nose into the water, inhales to feel the sting—

And there’s no beautiful song that curls gently around Toph’s skin. There’s no salt in the water that she’s grown so used to smelling. There are no scales slipping against her legs.

“Fuck,” Toph murmurs because she hates this, hates feeling this way. 

‘

When Toph hears him one December afternoon, just a whisper at the back of her mind, she pivots off the street and walks until her cane is tapping against sand. There are a few others on the beach in spite of the weather, but his dulcet hymn leads her farther and farther away from the general public. She stops at a patch of large rocks, her heart skipping at the sound of a tail splashing.

“You stupid, stupid fish,” Toph says, but she’s smiling so wide that it actually hurts. The answer she receives is a happy trill, the noise echoing that of a friendly dolphin. “There are people here.”

“I found an alcove nearby,” Aang lifts his hand from the water, wiggling his fingers at her. “Come with me? No one will find us there.”  

“How did you even find me?” And, fucking hell, navigating through these jagged rocks is really something Toph should not be doing, but she finds his hand halfway and tangles their fingers together.

“Sokka helped me figure out where China was. Oh, he wants to meet you by the way! He thinks you’re cool.”

“For a human?”

“In general,” Aang says, sounding so happy. “But yeah, for a human too.”

Aang carefully lures her into the water and it’s fucking cold, but he’s pressing warm kisses to her mouth, so much that she doesn’t mind that she’s wholly surrounded by the sea in the dead of winter.

[forestwater87]

Listen, just because this fandom is temporarily dead doesn’t mean my love for Gwenvid is.

Mega thanks to @gwenvidweek​ for making this happen! We love you, mods!

Gwenvid Week, Day 1: Before Camp/After Camp 

David’s always had a soft spot for rituals. They remind him of his mom, of camp -- of all the things that feel like home. They center him, clear his mind, get him ready for the challenges ahead.

He carefully dots the exclamation mark in the sand and takes a step back, tossing his writing stick to the side and putting his hands on his hips. The words written on the shore are a little crooked, the D a little crooked from when a sudden bird call startled him, but as he kicks off his boots (carefully rolling up his socks and smushing them into the toes to keep them from getting sandy) his chest is warm and light.

And lucky for him, because the lake is so cold he nearly jumps out of his skin. Clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, he forces himself to wade out to his waist, and turns back to survey his handiwork. With the frigid water of Lake Lilac leaving his legs numb, the cool breeze making the trees rustle and the air smell like pine needles, and the sun already scorching everything it touches as it climbs into the sky, he reads back the words in the sand, letting his gaze move slow and deliberately over each swoop and wobbly line and tracing their mirror in the calm surface of the lake like sacred runes.

Campe diem. The words that make the summer begin. 

Or . . . not quite.

“David!”

The voice makes him jump, but a second later he smiles. “Good morning, Gwen!” he calls, splashing back to shore and subtly kicking away the letters. “It’s nice to see you up so early on such an important day!”

His co-counselor doesn’t look like it’s nice to be up, but aside from a baleful glare she shoots at the sunrise she doesn’t respond. She’s still groggy, dressed in her pajamas with her hair a messy tangle of knots that blend the two tones into a single warm burgundy. The sun makes her glow where it hits her face, warm and lit from the inside like a jack-o-lantern . . . only that sounds a lot less pretty than he intended, so he’s relieved that’s one of the thoughts he didn’t share out loud.

David wonders if people enjoy looking at their best friends this much, or if it means something potentially dangerous. The way he always does when this question occurs, he quickly banishes it from his mind. “How are you settling in?” he asks, fully aware of the answer. They share a cabin, after all, and Gwen’s spent enough years at Camp Campbell to have the routine down to a science; within minutes of hopping off the bus QM rented for the summer, she’s mostly unpacked, changed into her counselors’ uniform, and begun a critical sweep of the camp’s supplies and paperwork.

She makes a noncommittal noise, rubbing the sleep from one eye with the heel of her hand and trying to shield herself from the sun with the other. “Are you ready? The stores are gonna be full of families getting shit for the summer -- it’ll be like Black Friday, so we’ve gotta be in and out as soon as the Tradin’ Post opens unless you’re prepared to deck some soccer moms.”

He resists the urge to smile; she might not believe in the power of the beginning-of-summer rituals, but this optimistic plan for their camping supply trip is as much a staple of every summer as David’s sand writing. “Sounds like a swell plan, Gwen.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she mutters, but he catches a half-smile before she turns her back on the lake. “Come on, get dressed and meet me in the Mess Hall. I’ll start inventory.” As he falls into step beside her, she glances over at him, raising her eyebrows. “Morning swim?”

He shrugs, turning to survey the empty campground. “Basically!”

“Sure. Seems like something you’d do.” She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, already fixated on the task at hand. “Just hurry up so we can get out of here. If you think you’re gonna make me do all the hard jobs by myself, I’ve got a guitar with your face written all over it.”

David laughs before he can stop himself. “There it is,” he murmurs, causing her to glance over curiously.

“Huh?”

“Nothing! I’ll meet you in the kitchen. Might as well start by seeing what food we have, right?” As he ducks into the counselor’s cabin, he catches a glimpse of her hair, glinting like copper in the early-morning light, and his heart lifts.

There it is.

Writing the camp’s motto in the sand and water is important to him, a silly little consecration ritual that marks the line between his life outside of Camp Campbell and the endless, magical months of summer. He’s done it ever since he was a junior counselor; it feels like staking a claim on the only perfect place that’s ever existed, like writing his name on the heart of the earth. Even if he technically owns the camp now -- something that felt too bizarre and wonderful to make sense last summer and if anything is only more strange after an entire year -- no amount of signatures or invoices capture the simple power of the words “campe diem” on Lake Lilac.

But for David, the summer doesn’t really begin until Gwen tells him she needs him. Never in those exact words, of course . . . but he’s gotten pretty good at reading between her lines, and she’s never exactly been subtle.

He tightens his bandanna around his neck, smiling at his reflection. Get out there and help your CBFL, David. Campe diem.

The wheels that help spring become summer begin turning.

---

“Okay.” Gwen groans, rolling her shoulders; there are some ominous pops and cracks, but she doesn’t look like she’s dislocated anything so David assumes everything’s fine. “I’ll “Okay. This is okay.” Gwen runs a hand through her hair, grimacing as her fingers get caught in tangles. She’s still in her pajamas, a smear of dirt along her thigh from crawling around the supply shed, but she’s so single-minded David isn’t sure she’s even aware of what she’s wearing. (He makes a quick mental note to remind her to change before they leave, because when she gets hyperfocused like this, it’s easy to see her blasting down the shelves of the Sleepy Peak Tradin’ Post in bare feet and oversized paisley boxer shorts.) “We can’t afford literally anything we need. Just like every summer. This is gonna be a disaster, but that’s okay.”

He puts his hand on her shoulder, figuring now isn’t a good time for a hug. “It’ll be fine,” he tries. He scans over their shopping list and tries to imagine a way they can stretch their budget to cover it all; then he remembers that he doesn’t know what their budget is, because Gwen takes care of that, and feels a faint spike of panic jam itself between his ribs. “Let’s ask Mr. Campbell if --”

“Don’t even think about it, kiddo. The government already cleaned me out.” Mr. Campbell slouches into the room, tugging at the trapdoor in the Mess Hall ceiling that leads to the attic. “Those brothers found every last hiding place I had. Apparently it’s being used to repay my ‘debts to society,’ if you can believe it.”

“I can,” Gwen mutters, gaze darting around the Mess Hall as though hoping a sign saying “Free Money Here” will appear out of the blue. She hurries into the back room, where they’ve managed to convert a closet into something resembling an office.

David’s distracted by something else, though. “Brothers?” he repeats, hurrying to help Mr. Campbell lower the spring-down ladder from the ceiling.

“Yeah, those suits from Washington. You’ve met them a hundred times -- sunglasses, terrible fashion sense. The secret agent guys.”

“Um, sir --” he’s not supposed to call Mr. Campbell “sir” anymore, since he’s technically the boss now, but it’s a surprisingly tough habit to kick, “-- if you mean Agent and Agent Miller . . . they’re not brothers.”

He frowns down at David, frozen halfway up to the attic like he’s scaling a mountain. “Of course they are! Or are you going to tell me it’s a coincidence that they have the same last name?”

David shrugs awkwardly, kind of wishing he hadn’t said anything. “They’re married, sir.”

“Really?” His brows furrow. “And that’s legal here now?” David nods. “Go figure. Well, good for them.”

Gwen bursts back into the Mess Hall with a scrap of paper, snatching her phone off one of the tables. “Agent Miller?” she says after a moment, and her tone abruptly melts into honey. “It’s Gwen Santos! You know, from Camp Campbell? Yeah, it’s great to hear from you, too! How’s the weather over there?”

The rattling sound of the ladder being drawn back up into the attic startles David, making him jump and glance away from the conversation. He frowns up at the closed trapdoor -- he’s pretty sure Mr. Campbell is telling the truth about his stashes of money, but it’d be nice if he at least tried to help -- then crosses over to the safe in the corner. (It’s empty, of course, but he wants to feel like he’s doing something useful.)

Meanwhile, Gwen’s voice still sounds like it’s made of spun sugar: “Things are wonderful over here! We’re taking good care of everything. Actually, that’s part of why I was calling . . . I noticed Ered’s coming back this summer?” A moment of silence, then a bubbly laugh. “Well, we’re certainly excited to have her here! The thing is . . .”

A few minutes later she ends the call, immediately jumping into the air and spiking her phone into the couch. “That’s how it’s done!” she crows, dancing in a circle. “I -- am -- the -- best!” Each word is punctuated by punching the air, and then she twirls around again.

Her eyes land on David as she finishes spinning. It’s like a bucket of water was dumped on her head -- her shoulders slump, her arms fall to her sides, and it even seems like the brilliant violet of her eyes turns duller. 

“Oh. Hey, David.”

He forces a smile, rising to his feet and wincing as his knees crack. “That sounds like good news!” he says, wondering if there’s a way to tell her he doesn’t mind seeing her happy without it making everything awkward and weird.

She brightens a bit, rescuing her phone from where it lodged itself between the couch cushions. “Yeah. Turns out the Millers are really happy with you for taking care of Campbell all year. They’re Venmo-ing the camp some cash. Probably not enough for most of the stuff we need, but we can cut it down to the essentials.”

“That’s amazing!” He doesn’t entirely know what she accomplished, but it sounds encouraging. “Gwen, you’re incredible!”

She shrugs, her cheeks flushing pink. “Whatever,” she mumbles, then raises her voice almost to a shout. “It’s crazy what great things can happen when you’re not breaking the law all the time!”

Mr. Campbell’s voice is muffled by the closed door: “Give it a rest, Gina!”

Gwen rolls her eyes, but her attempt to look annoyed is dampened slightly by the smile that keeps tugging at the corner of her mouth. “What a dick. Come on, David, let’s get out of here.”

When she emerges from the cabin, dressed like a Camp Campbell counselor for the first time this summer, he looks up from his phone with a smile. “Campe diem, Gwen!” he says, giving her the Camp Campbell salute. Her response is just to shake her head, which is about all he expected. “You look great!”

She gives him a strange look as she slides into the driver’s side of the campmobile. “I look like this all the time, David.”

And she looks great all the time, but he knows better than to say that out loud. “Camp Campbell has a Venmo?” he asks instead (he looked it up while she was getting changed).

“Yes, Brother David. It’s one of those boring grown-up things I did while you were playing in the dirt last summer. No need to thank me.”

Well, she said he doesn’t need to thank her, so he chooses not to. That’s just the kind of thing Gwen does, after all, and once again he wonders how they’d get by if she was able to find a better job.

We’d figure it out, he tells himself, looking out the window as the camp falls behind them. But not this summer.

He has one more year of grace, anyway. 

She’s here, and he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

---

Even though Gwen says she doesn’t have any rituals, there are a few things that they have to do every summer, the day before all the campers arrive. Inventory coupled with a panicked last-minute shopping trip is one of them. Listening to strange music at earth-shaking volumes on the drive to and from town is another.

“Yeah, girl, it's true, I'm into you, but these benzos, they got me feeling loose --”

David’s tempted to cover his ears -- it cannot be good for his eardrums; he didn’t even know the volume knob went this high! -- but if he does that, he might block out Gwen’s voice. There are very few situations where she’s willing to sing with an audience, and the car ride into town is one of those rare occasions.

He sits back, watching her shimmy her shoulders in time to the music, painting the air with the hand not on the steering wheel in strange gestures that are half conducting and half gang signs --

“Why don't you come through, before I Goku -- fuck this white pill and go super xan!”

-- and decides, like he does every year, that this is worth the risk of moderate hearing loss.

As they pull up in front of the store (despite Gwen’s dire warnings, the street is as empty always), she switches the music off. David tries to convince himself the ringing in his ears is all in his head, and that he isn’t going to suddenly wake up deaf. He mostly succeeds.

“Okay, David.” Gwen stops directly in front of him, putting her hands on his shoulders. It suddenly feels like there’s a snake constricting around his chest, and his next breath stutters and doesn’t seem to pull in enough air. She doesn’t notice, narrowing her eyes at him as though he was one of their poorly-behaved campers. “We have a list.” She waves it between their faces for emphasis.

He swallows, nodding. “We do.”

“We’re sticking to the list.” 

David nods, resisting the urge to laugh. “Of course we are,” he says; he hadn’t intended for his remark to sound sarcastic but can’t be entirely disappointed that it does.

“We’re not buying anything unless it’s on this list, got it?”

“Got it, Gwen!”

“Good.” She takes a step back and punches his arm lightly. “Let’s go, CBFL.”

As he follows her into the store, he couldn’t keep from smiling if he tried.

---

“Wasn’t that fun?”

Gwen groans, shoving the last of the bags into the car (David reminds himself yet again to put his reusable shopping bags in the campmobile so they don’t spend another summer gathering dust under his bed) and slamming the door shut. “Swear to god I’m gonna get a leash for you,” she grumbles, putting her forehead on the steering wheel for a moment before starting the car. “I’ll order one from a kink website or something and you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a close thing. “I don’t think that’s necessary . . .”

“Oh, yeah?” She lifts her head to give him a sideways glare. “How many knives did we buy?”

“Two.”

“And how many knives were on the list?”

Okay, she’s made her point. “But Gwen, one of them is specially engineered for whittling!” He digs through the bags until he recovers it, holding it up to her. “I’ve always wanted to try whittling!”

“‘Specially engineered’ is a bullshit term used to sell stuff to idiots, David. And the other one . . .”

“Is . . . well . . .” Okay, so he doesn’t have an exact use for it yet. But he likes being prepared, and it’s important to have tools on-hand. “The box says you could shave with it! Isn’t that cool?”

She taps on the steering wheel impatiently. “Are you planning on shaving with it?” she asks, deadpan.

“No.” But he could.

Gwen snorts, starting the car. “Well, you’re gonna have to explain to the campers why we’re using the same old watered-down paint as last year.” She pulls an imitation of him that’s disturbingly accurate. “‘Golly gee, sorry about that, kids! But look at this cool knife I got instead!’”

That hardly seems fair, but he doesn’t have a good comeback. Knives aren’t cheap, it’s true, and he hates the thought that the camp will suffer because of him. “I mean, when you put it like that . . .” he mutters, looking out the window to avoid her accusing gaze.

There’s a moment of silence. Then her arm lands heavily around his shoulders, pulling him into a sudden half-hug. By the time he’s registered what’s happening, she’s taken her arm back and gently shoved him back to his side of the car. “It’s fine, David,” she says with a sigh, her face slightly pink. “I didn’t have to buy Nights with the Wolf Queen, either.”

He doesn’t point out that a grocery-store paperback is hardly as much of an expense as two wilderness knives, mostly because he doesn’t want her to realize it herself. So he takes the olive branch and smiles at her before reaching to the dashboard and turning the music back on.

Noise explodes through the car, making both of them jump even though they knew it was going to happen. Gwen’s surprise immediately dissolves into delight, and even though she doesn’t thank him outright, she bobs her head and drums on the steering wheel to the beat, and that feels like thanks enough.

“Robbing banks, knock it off! Not saying thanks, knock it off!”

David perks up, tilting his head to hear better (not that he needs to, since the music is currently drilling its way into his skull). “Hey, I like this one!” he says. Why didn’t they start with this song?

Gwen glances at him for a second before returning her eyes to the road, clearly trying not to smile. “Would it even matter if I tell you this is sarcastic?”

It wouldn’t, and they both know it.

---

David takes a step back, holding up his phone and fiddling with the zoom. This is another important part of beginning the season; the supply room will never be this full or tidy for the rest of the summer, and their hard work deserves to be documented before it all gets undone. “Looks perfect!” 

So perfect, in fact, that it needs to be uploaded to Instagram. Right now!

“Yeah?” Gwen huffs, slumping against a pile of unmade tents nearly as tall as they are. She must’ve dragged it out of the shed while he was sharing his photo. “I’m so glad you’re doing the important stuff while I slack off.”

If that’s sarcasm, he chooses to ignore it. “Don’t say that! You’ve done a great job today!” She groans loudly -- so it was sarcasm, good to know -- but takes the other end of the tarp holding all the tents and helps him drag it out to the field. The sun hovers just above the trees, golden-yellow and almost thick enough to touch, and his stomach grumbles as they survey the campgrounds. “Do you want to have dinner first, or . . .”

“Fuck that.” She grabs a tent and slings it over her shoulder. Her face and neck glisten with sweat, and she impatiently brushes the strands of hair that’ve escaped her ponytail out of her face. She looks unkempt and beautiful, like a lumberjack, or a viking. “If I sit down, I won’t be able to get back up. Let’s just finish this shit.”

Her language leaves a little to be desired, but her logic is sound. The tents are meant to be put up by and for children, so they aren’t too difficult to set up, but most of them have taken damage between the last summer and storage, so the process keeps stalling to fix broken rods and quick-sew patches over holes in the fabric (David’s job, mostly; Gwen isn’t much of a seamstress). The air is a gloomy indigo by the time they finish, cooling down just enough to make their sweat-damp clothes miserable. “Why don’t you take the first shower?” he offers as they walk back. “I’ll start dinner.”

“My hero,” she quips, veering off toward the counselors’ cabin. David shrugs off his discomfort and exhaustion, forcing a skip into his step as he heads into the Mess Hall.

This is their final ritual before the campers arrive tomorrow, and he wants everything to be perfect.

---

“Okay.” Gwen groans, rolling her shoulders; there are some ominous pops and cracks, but she doesn’t look like she’s dislocated anything so David assumes everything’s fine. “I’ll admit, this is exactly what I needed.”

“Hmm?” He cups his free hand around his ear, gently twirling his stick over the fire. As much as he wants to look over at Gwen, he has to keep his attention on roasting his hot dog. The last thing he wants is to deal with another exploded dinner. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

She snorts and throws a marshmallow at his head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“No, I’m just not sure I heard you correctly! Because it sounded like maybe you were saying you were wrong about something --”

“Very cute,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

“-- and that, consequently, I was right!” He grins at her, removing his (cooked to perfection) hot dog from the fire and transferring it to a bun.

“Sounds like you’re saying you wanna be hit in the face with a flaming hot dog, Greenwood.”

He leans forward and gently takes the stick from her hand, saving her food from its fiery doom. “I just think it’s swell that you’re willing to admit when you’re wrong, Gwen.”

“Give that back! It’s not done cooking.”

“It’s overcooking!”

“And that’s how I like it!” She snatches back her stick and holds it to the center of the flames, shooting him a defiant glare. A moment later there’s a loud pop; they throw themselves to the ground to avoid the burning shrapnel of the exploded hot dog, which light up the air like fireworks before sizzling harmlessly out in the dirt.

They both sit up, brushing themselves off, and take their seats around the campfire again. David waits a minute before saying, “This might be another good opportunity to practice owning up to your mistakes.”

She shoves his shoulder, laughing. “Let’s see you do it better.”

He does, knowing and not caring that she’s gotten him to do all the work for her. The fire is a lovely contrast to the chilly night, and he feels warm and glowing all over.

After dinner they crowd themselves into one of the campers’ tents, rolling out sleeping bags on the floor next to the child-sized cots. Gwen sprawls out across hers, stretching like a cat. “Hell of a last supper.”

He knows what she means, but he isn’t comfortable sharing her dread over three months of meals cooked by the Quartermaster. At least, not out loud. Instead he crawls back outside, recovering the two steaming mugs he pilfered from the Mess Hall and bringing them into the tent. “Here you go!”

She sits up and takes the hot chocolate, curling both hands around it despite the heat. “Well, since I’m apparently on a roll here,” she says, taking a sip and sighing happily, “I guess I have to admit that this is a really good way to start the summer.”

David quickly takes a drink as well, hiding his smile behind the mug. “So I was right about that as well?”

“Okay, don’t milk it,” she snaps, but there’s no real malice in her voice. She leans back against one of the cots, wincing at the screech of metal shifting, and tilts her head up to the ceiling, as though she can see through the fabric to the stars beyond. “I had a lot of fun today,” she says after a moment. Setting her drink to the side, she tugs the elastic out of her ponytail; in the white light of their lantern, with her hair falling in loose, fluffy waves down to her shoulders, she looks soft and almost ethereal, like a princess in a fairy tale. “Thanks, David.”

She meets his eyes, the light turning them a silvery lavender, and looking at her is suddenly too much so he turns his attention to his drink. “No problem, CBFL,” he says, taking a deep breath and wishing his heart wasn’t beating so fast. He opens his mouth to say something else but it turns out there’s nothing else he has to say so he shuts it again, feeling stupid.

For a few minutes they’re quiet, drinking their hot chocolate in companionable silence. At least, David hopes it’s companionable -- he’s not exactly sure how to measure companionableness, but it seems friendly enough so he’s going to do his best not to overthink it. That’s what Gwen would tell him, he knows, and she has a degree in psychology so she definitely knows what she’s talking about more than he does.

Thank goodness he’s not talking out loud; it’s embarrassing enough that he’s babbling in his own mind . . . oh no, what if he has been talking out loud this entire time? What has he said?!

“David?” His gaze snaps up to her, but she doesn’t look annoyed or creeped out so he probably hasn’t been saying anything too weird, at least, and probably hasn’t been talking out loud at all so that’s good but her expression is alarmingly serious and she hasn’t said anything else and it’s been at least ten seconds that they’ve just been looking at each other but he’s not sure what she wants so -- “Let me know if I’m reading this wrong.”

“Reading?” he manages weakly. He feels strangely disconnected from his body as he watches her set her mug aside and cross the small space to kneel in front of him. Her hand alights on his shoulder, fluttery and weightless as a hummingbird, and she seems a little close and a lot beautiful and if he’s not extremely careful she’s going to figure out all the things he’s put so much work into not letting her figure out -- try not to feel at all, but it’s hard to keep his composure and not look at her mouth when it’s so close and there’s no camp activities or pre-camp activities or post-camp activities to distract them both with, just quiet and breathing and soft white lantern light and her hand on his shoulder, and he’s always considered himself able to multitask pretty well but this feels like too much so he squeezes his eyes shut . . .

The kiss takes him entirely by surprise. One moment he’s bracing himself for a confrontation, questions he doesn’t know how to answer, and the next moment is filled with Gwen -- her lips soft and slightly chapped against his and her fingers tightening on his shoulder and the coconutty smell of her shampoo all around him and he’s a little worried that he’s having a heart attack but gosh, jeez, fuck it, he kisses her back.

And she doesn’t shove him away or demand to know what in the name of fun he thinks he’s doing; she lets out a weak little huff of air that lands somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, her mouth opens just slightly, and she shifts forward, her arms twining over his shoulders. One hand slides into his hair, the gentle scrape of her fingernails shivering from his scalp down his spine, and it occurs to him that he can touch her as well, that he’s not only apparently allowed but actually probably should. Slowly, both so she has plenty of him to stop him and in a futile attempt to stop his fingers from shaking, he lifts his hand to her neck, gingerly cupping around the base of her head and running his thumb along the space behind her ear. She gasps against his lips, but she doesn’t pull away so he assumes it’s a good gasp and repeats the motion, and when her tongue flicks against his bottom lip like a question he opens his mouth, because he’s never been very good at saying no to her for anything and he sure as sugar has no intention of starting now.

David’s not sure how much time passes before she pulls back, but even though he feels cold and bereft everywhere they’re no longer touching it’s probably for the best, because he doesn’t realize how lightheaded he is until he opens his eyes and has to wait for the world to shudder into place. She sits on her heels, biting her lower lip; he lets his hand fall away from her, and in a second they’re disconnected, apart.

“Well.” She chuckles weakly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “That was . . .”

A mistake, his brain finishes, and his stomach drops in miserable anticipation.

In fact, he’s so prepared for those devastating words that he almost misses what she actually says: “unexpected, huh?”

It takes him a moment to register that, to recalibrate, so his response is a bit too late, just a little bit awkward: “I -- definitely didn’t see it coming.”

“That’s because your eyes were closed,” she says with a grimace, like she regrets the lame joke even before she’s finished saying it; but it melts so seamlessly into a smile, small and self-conscious and unexpected and perfect, that he forgets what words are, let alone that he’s supposed to say some to continue the conversation.

With a nervous glance at him, Gwen scuttles back to her side of the tent, picking up her mug of hot chocolate. 

“Sorry, was that totally inappropriate?” she asks, responding before he can. “I mean, of course it was, you’re technically my boss, I don’t know what -- I just thought I was -- there were some signals -- weren’t there? Was that . . . okay?”

The enormous stupidity of the question finally surprises him into speaking. “Okay? That was . . .” the best thing that’s ever happened in my life. “Very. Okay -- it was completely okay. Better than okay, it was . . . you know, good. Nice. I’m going to stop talking now.”

Her smile widens, visible even as she covers her mouth with one hand. “Really?” she says, suddenly like she’s blurting it out. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He’s so sure that he shuffles forward on his knees, most likely looking like a total idiot, until he’s in front of her again. He doesn’t have the courage to kiss her so he takes one of her hands, turning it over and examining how beautiful it is, how lovely it looks contrasted with his pale fingers. He strokes the backs of her knuckles, marveling at how soft her skin is even after a day of hard work, and tries to remember how to breathe.

Gwen puts her other hand under his chin, forcing him to look up, and kisses him again.

It’s a bit less gentle than the first time, both her mouth and her fingers hot and insistent as they press against him, and he loses his balance, falling onto his back with a small yelp of surprise. She follows him down without breaking the kiss, lowering herself to her elbows and covering his body with hers. He’s distantly aware of a dull ceramic clunk, but he doesn’t really take notice of what it means until a few moments later, when something lukewarm and wet seeps into the hem of his pajama pants.

“Shit!” She rolls off of him, righting the mug of no-longer-hot chocolate and scrambling for the napkins left over from dinner. “Fuck, it’s everywhere.”

He tugs her sleeping bag away from the spill, but it’s already soaked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to knock it over!”

She shakes her head, sitting back and surveying the damage. “No, I think I did it. It’s fine, the dirt’ll soak it up. But it’s gonna bring ants, so we’re going to have to give this tent to the campers we hate the most. I vote Max.”

“Gwen!” He can’t quite make that sound as disapproving as he should. He scoops up the wet napkins and drags her wet sleeping bag outside. “I’ll go put this in the wash right now.”

She glances at her watch, then back up at him. “It’s almost midnight, David. I’m not staying up until that’s clean, it’ll take all night.”

He knows she’s right -- the machine they rely on for the camp’s laundry is the same one they’ve had since he was a junior counselor, and runs extremely slowly -- and disappointment makes his shoulders slump. “We can sleep in the cabin, then. That’s no problem.”

When he returns from the laundry, yawning, Gwen isn’t in the counselors’ cabin like he expected. She’s not by the dying embers of the campfire, or in the tent. The sleeping bag, it turns out, isn’t in there either, nor are the lantern and the mugs of hot chocolate. He opens his mouth to whisper-call her name (it’s spooky with the fire out) --

“David!”

He jumps, covering his mouth to muffle a noise that was definitely not a scream, and turns to see Gwen leaning out of one of the other campers’ tents, half-hidden by shadows. She gestures him over and disappears back into the tent.

Shaking off his alarm, he ducks inside to see Gwen bundled up in the sleeping bag on the ground, with the other supplies well out of reach. “Oh,” he says, not sure exactly what he’s looking at. “Um, should I . . . sleep on one of the cots?” It’d be uncomfortable, but he’d rather shiver through a night curled up on a too-small bed than go back to the cabin alone.

She rolls her eyes at him and wriggles to the side, unzipping the bag halfway. “Get in before you let all the warm out.”

Oh. His face flushes hot and he has to look down at his feet for a moment to compose himself.

Well, he’s hardly going to refuse, is he?

It’s a bit of a close fit, but he manages to slide in alongside her. She turns onto her side, slinging one arm over his waist and resting her cheek on his shoulder. “Is this okay?” she mumbles, already sounding like she’s halfway to falling asleep.

He has to swallow twice before he can answer. “Y-yes. This is fine.” He can already tell that it’ll get unbearably warm soon -- Gwen’s pressed against his side and radiating heat like a furnace -- but her weight on his chest is solid and comforting and he knows he won’t be moving an inch until the sun rises, not unless she tells him to.

She’s quiet for long enough that he thinks she’s fallen asleep.

“Sorry.”

It’s so soft he freezes in the darkness, trying to figure out if that was his imagination or not. When she lifts her head, nothing more than a black vaguely-Gwen-shaped blob, he recovers and says, “Why?”

“I know this whole pre-summer hot chocolate thing is really important to you. It kinda sucks that I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything!” He sits up on his elbows, tentatively reaching out to stroke her hair. His fingertips brush against her forehead and she ducks slightly, letting him pet her hair without poking an eye out. “I know it hasn’t exactly started yet,” he says, flopping back down so she can rest her head on his shoulder again, “but I think this might be the best summer ever.”

“You say that every summer.”

He smiles up at nothing. “And I mean it every summer.”

There’s silence for a moment, then he feels her press a light kiss against his neck. “Call me optimistic, but you might be onto something this year, anyway.”

“Wow,” he says, blowing out a huff of air. “Admitting I’m right three times in one day. I hope it doesn’t keep up like this or I’ll get a swelled head!”

He doesn’t have to see her face to know she’s glaring at him, and that small knowledge makes him indescribably happy. “No danger of that happening.”

“I know.” It’s one of his favorite things about her.

Her breathing evens out as she falls asleep, soft and slightly nasal. It’s another sound he associates with his time spent at Camp Campbell, although never so close, never with her hair tickling his cheek and her hand splayed over his heart like she’s protecting it. He’s used to letting her breathing lull him to sleep from across the room -- but he thinks he could get used to this, if he has the chance.

(He’d like the chance to get used to this.)

David closes his eyes and enjoys the last moments of peace they have, before the kids arrive and the camp explodes into a delightful frenzy of sound and chaos.

Let the summer begin.

[starkeristheendgame]

Shameless IronFam type friendly violence and fluff? Don't mind if I do. As requested, cute w no smut. No TW bar possibly light, consensual combative training. I was also a massive noob and posted the original ask with like two words written so I'm so sorry but it's just a screenshot of the original ask 💔

Peter was used to unusual wake-ups. The Avengers Alert system blaring; people crashing through his bedroom walls; a Pomeranian that was actually an alien that had escaped the Guardians on their way to document it before returning it home.

The usual type of unusual.

Being slapped awake by a boxing glove was by no means the most unusual or unpleasant, but he still jerked awake with a yell, flailing for a moment before his senses stopped doing the tango and Tony's smug face came into focus.

"You didn't sense that coming?" Tony asked, clicking his tongue. Peter blinked.

"I was asleep?" He defended questioningly, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The boxing glove was red with a gold velcro band, and proclaimed S.I across the knuckles.

"Spidey-Senses? What Spidey-Senses? Get dressed. You have an hour" Tony announced before waltzing out of the room. Tony himself could be considered unusual, especially since coming into Peter's room wasn't exactly a habit. His mentor was actually the one that afforded him the most privacy.

Peter lay there for a moment, dazedly staring at the door before JARVIS piped up softly.

"Sir would like me to add that you are to meet him at the gym, and appropriate attire for training should be worn".

"Thanks, J" Peter murmured, and threw off the covers. He went through his usual morning routine, sans the shower because he would need one after 'training' regardless.

When he entered the kitchen, Steve Rogers was hunched protectively over a bowl of honey hoops, eyeing the kitchen around him warily and inspecting his spoon before eating.

"Morning, Queens" the Captain greeted him cheerfully, and eyed another spoonful before carefully chewing. Peter watched him for a moment before his gaze slid across to the other counter, where a micro sized Antman lurked, poised in a crouch.

"Morning, Captain Brooklyn".

Scott caught his eye and threw him a mock salute as Peter passed to get a Hot Pocket, and Peter snuck a waggle of his fingers in return, careful not to alert Steve.

So it seemed The Great Prank Wars bad begun again. Peter would have to remember to be on high alert.

"Off to do some training?" Steve asked after another wary bite, arms covering his bowl as his attention raised to Peter, who nodded cheerfully, though he looked a little puzzled.

"Apparently. Mr. Stark hit me with a glove then told me to get ready. I think maybe it's that boxing stuff that he and Mr. Happy do?" He hummed thoughtfully.

"Well, whatever it is, you'll do great. Clint says he can't wait to get his hands on you" Steve smiled reassuringly, and looked at his cereal suspiciously when his spoon wobbled.

Peter tried not to think of that in a sexual manner as he took his HotPocket and made his exit, not wanting to be caught in the cross fire of whatever cereal based war was about to initiate.

He ate his breakfast quickly, and sat on his phone for a while to get it digest. His fast metabolism meant it look half the time it would a normal person, and he was already warming up by the time Tony came sauntering into the gym.

Peter's throat went a little dry at the sight of the man in fitted, breathable gym gear, but he controlled himself with a stern internal talk, and greeted Tony with a broad grin, bouncing on his toes.

"What's first, Mr. Stark?" He asked, and the boxing glove smacked him in the face again.

"Hmm. Well I'd say your reflexes, but...Maybe someone like Clint would be better for that. We're gonna look at your combative style" Tony hummed, approaching and stooping to pick up the glove. Peter kept a wary side-eye on it.

"Swing out of reach lots, try to web them like burritos and try not to get hit" Peter responded confidently.

Tony blinked. Blew out a breath. "Oh, boy. And I made you an Avenger. Alright; let's start". Peter frowned but obliged as Tony guided him through a warm-up style workout, checked how he formed a fist and his stances.

"Well, at least you know how not to break your hand" Tony announced cheerfully, unaware of how Peter's cheeks burned as Tony cradled his fist.

"I watched a YouTube tutorial" he beamed, and Tony sighed again.

"Okay. So. Standard braced fight stance" Tony encouraged, and Peter hesitantly shifted into it, knees slightly bent and shoulder width apart, loose but resting a little on the balls of his feet, ready to move.

"Good start. You just..." Tony trailed off, reaching out and grasping Peter's hips gently. Peter blew out a breath but kept his expression schooled as Tony positioned him so his spine was a little straighter. "Getting there" the older man murmured, moving to his side, fingertips trailing slowly along his forearms to reposition them.

Tony smelled like fruity aftershave and coffee and Peter took a subtle breath, losing his concentration a little. "Okay. So this, here, is what I want whenever I ask for a 'one', okay?" Tony hummed, tapping at his temple, and Peter nodded.

And so it went. Peter practised his stances and his fist, and they begun a little on throwing punches before Tony called it quits. "Good job, kid" he breezed, clapping Peter on the shoulder as he passed and left the gym.

"No cool down?" Peter asked the empty room. When it didn't reply, he begun alone.

Tony didn't wake him up the next day, but he did accost Peter during brunch, slapping his hands down onto the table and making Peter jump, staring in dismay as his oatmeal flew from his spoon and onto the cabinet behind Tony.

"I wanted that" he pouted, and Tony gave him a look that was probably intended as apologetic, but fell a little short.

"When that's not gonna make you puke, but the gym. We're entering the next stage" Tony announced, before leaving like those mysterious characters in the movies.

Or Director Fury. He did that a lot.

Sundays were apparently days of rest, at least from Tony's training. The prank war had been in full, feral swing by Wednesday and the Avengers had suffered great damage.

On Thursday morning Clint had stepped into the common room and onto a hidden panel, and fell to his knees as a marble ball swung down and between his legs.

"Oh. Yeah. -10HP" he'd wheezed, before falling onto his face. Almost fifteen minutes later he was still there, and Steve picked him up by the back of his jacket, carrying him like a briefcase down to the infirmary.

Peter, a friendly natural, had only suffered salted cereal and frozen solid bedsheets so far. Training was always a neutral zone because of the ridiculous amount of skill and superpowers that made it risky on a general basis, and he and Tony had made leaps of progress.

Stances and fists were easy, and Peter already had a good foundation of fighting knowledge (even if most of it came from YouTube tutorials and trail/error). So the basics quickly became refining what he knew, and learning more about fighting on the ground, because admittedly Peter relied a little too much on his webs. 

“Wait. So...What is this supposed to do?” Peter asked, from where he lay half-suspended in the air, draped over Tony’s thigh. Being close to his mentor hadn’t gotten any easier, especially not when Tony was literally within licking reach for half of their sessions. 

“This” Tony responded simply, and Peter’s world spun in four different directions before he hit the floor, head an arm cradled carefully by Tony so the supposed face-plant and jarring neck and arm bend didn’t happen. 

“Oh” Peter responded, and tried hard not to puke. 

Three weeks later, and Peter and Tony were fighting. 

Well. It was a friendly fight, and the Prank War was officially over after the President of Uruguay got thrown into a conscious time loop portal by mistake. But their training had progressed and now they were actually sparring, trading hits and practising moves in turn. 

Peter was small, fast, and strong. Hard to catch and flighty. A colt, Tony called him, when Peter slipped from his grasp again. But Tony was quick too, strong, too, and had experience in combatives that Peter didn’t. More often than not, Peter found himself tripped up or caught out, walking straight into an open move that he hadn’t even realised he’d set himself up for or been unaware of. 

“You’re good, kid” Tony huffed, shifting free of the leg-lock Peter had him in, tossing Peter backwards as he rolled to his feet. They were working on tackles and holds today, and Peter’s libido was begging for reprieve. These past three weeks he’d been so affected by the training he’d invested in some soothing aloe gel. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. You’re not so bad yourself” Peter grinned, and yelled when Tony did a move that didn’t seem physically possible, world spinning as they tumbled and rolled and...

And Tony ended up above him, braced and with Peter’s legs caught and trapped, one arm held fast by the wrist and twisted a little, so he was sort of like a pretzel. It seemed tight and impossible and Mr. Stark was right there above him and. 

“Aw, fuck” Peter whined. Tony grinned, kept his grip steady and adjusted his knees so he was firmer, steadier. Peter felt trapped and tangled and held fast and Tony gripped him, let him squirm and writhe but didn’t give him any room to make a real difference. 

“J, start the timer. You got twenty seconds to get outta this, any way you can” Tony breathed. Peter squirmed. Wriggled. Even ducked his head to try and bite Tony’s arm, but the older men jerked him taut and held him fast, and even Peter’s semi-free leg couldn’t get anywhere. 

And Tony was still above him, so close Peter felt a little cross-eyed looking at him. He was a little sweaty and his mouth looked plush and inviting, and Tony was grinning at him so softly and breathing in short little pants and. 

Peter kissed him. 

A plush, firm press of their mouths, desperate and sweet, a perfect fit despite the clumsy start. Tony’s lips were soft, with the slight ridge of a scar, his stubble prickly on the corners of Peter’s mouth. 

Peter pulled back. 

Tony hovered above him, eyes mouth and mouth slack. It took Peter a bare few moments to realise that his grip had also gone slack, and he jerked, throwing Tony sideways and pulling his leg free, rolling with him and grappling the lax body until it was Peter on top, but he wasn’t pinning him. 

They lay there, breathing heavily and staring, and it felt like all time had stopped, lost in the amber swirl of Tony’s eyes until a shrill sound had them both jumping, Peter’s knee hitting square between Tony’s legs and Tony’s own knee landing heavy at Peter’s kidney. 

Groaning they fell apart, clutching their injured areas as the alarm cut off and into nothing. 

“Good thing I’ve technically got you as an heir. I think you just cut off any other chances” Tony wheezed, and Peter pushed himself up onto an elbow, one hand hovering regretfully over Tony’s hip. 

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry! I didn’t - There was nowhere else for my leg to go! Is it...Bad?” He asked, and winced when Tony shot him an evil side-eye. It took them both almost a full ten minutes to get from floor to elevator, and from elevator to infirmary, where Tony sat on the edge of a hospital bed, thighs spread and ice-pack pressed gingerly to the crotch of his sweatpants. 

“Well. I guess you got out of it” Tony spoke after a long pause where they sat quietly, staring at their respective spots on the floor. Peter gave a weak smile, fingertips absently rubbing at his mouth. He’d kissed Tony Stark. The Tony Stark. 

Peter Parker had kissed Iron Man. 

“Stop smiling like that” Tony grumped, and Peter tried to oblige, but the smile felt encompassing. “Seriously. You look like the Joker if Disney designed him” Tony groused, but Peter could only duck his head to try and hide the stubborn grin. 

“I really feel like we should talk about it. But talking is...Not my fortè. At all. Steve makes a good middle man. You could talk to Steve. And then Steve would have to talk to someone else because if he tries to talk to me I might punch his pretty teeth in, but - Peter. What are you -?” 

Tony didn’t get to finish, because Peter leaned down, catching his mouth in another kiss. Shorter, more chaste, and infinitely mindful of Tony’s tenderness. 

“I don’t wanna talk to Steve” Peter mumbled, and Tony let out a slow, steady breath. 

“Good”.

They stared at each other for a little while longer, before Tony sighed and slumped. “We’re gonna have to talk about this, kid. I’m supposed to be an adult. Fuck. I am the adult. I’m the fifty year old adult. I’m basically your Grandfather”.

“Well...I always used to say ‘It’s Daddy, not Grand-Daddy, but...I can make an exception” Peter grinned, and Tony threw the ice pack at him. 

[elisaphoenix13]

House Rules

He had no idea how this happened. One minute he was meditating in the living room, and the next he was in a closet with Levi wrapped tightly around him. Of course it was the closet of doom and he had landed in the box of Christmas lights, further getting entangled to the point that his cloak couldn't move much. When he thought about what happened in the span of sixty seconds, he was pretty sure the team was the reason for his current predicament. Specifically Sam and Bucky. Stephen came out of his meditation when he heard a crash and followed it downstairs to investigate, and found the two tossing a football around the floor meant for storage. His cloak had followed him both to the floor and inside the closet when Bucky accidentally knocked him in, but the soldier wasn't aware he had knocked Stephen into the closet when he caught the football. The closet closed after Stephen fell in and got tangled up in Levi and far too many strings of Christmas lights.

"What did you knock over?" Sam asks from outside the door.

"I don't know, but I won't tell if you won't." Bucky responds.

"Then we better get outta here before Mama Bear finds out."

Stephen spits out the mouthful of cloak he somehow managed to get into his mouth, but the two other men were gone before he could call out to them.

"Friday? Victor?"

When neither of the AI's answer, Stephen groans when he remembers that Tony temporarily shut them down to add upgrades and protocols to them. Fine time for him to get caught in a tangle he couldn't get out of. It was about an hour later that he heard Athena sniffing around and then scratch at the closet door when Stephen's trail stopped there. He had never been so glad to have such a loyal wolf.

"Athena! Go find Tony. Find Daddy and bring him here!"

Stephen listens as the wolf stops scratching at the door and departs from the room, and the sorcerer lays his head on the ground with a groan. He hoped by some miracle that Athena had understood what he asked of her. If she didn't, he was going to regret not making his communication with her permanent. She was a very intelligent wolf and for the most part understood whenever Stephen gave her commands, but they were usually simple commands like 'attack' or something along those lines.

Just when Stephen was about to sigh in defeat when the wolf (or Tony) didn't return, he heard scratching at the closet door again.

"What did you drag me all the way here for?" Tony asks the wolf on the other side of the door and Stephen's sigh of defeat instead comes out in relief.

The door opens and Tony raises an eyebrow when he sees Stephen all wrapped and tangled up on the floor of the closet. "Aww honey, wrapped up like a present just for me."

"Douchebag."

Tony chuckles and walks to help untangle the sorcerer and Stephen grimaces when Athena whines and licks his face. The second Levi is free enough, it pushes the wolf away and wipes its master's face, and Stephen sits up when Tony finally gets him untangled.

"Kind of hard to get kinky when I'm not here to enjoy it." The engineer kisses his forehead and Stephen grumbles.

"Sam and Bucky are so grounded." Stephen looks at Athena and takes her head in his hands, petting and scratching it with a smile. "Good girl."

The wolf wags her tail happily and barks softly in response and then accepts his husband's offered arm after the engineer stands back up. Stephen grabs his forearm and Tony pulls him to his feet and they exit the closet with Levi and Athena trailing close behind. Stephen wasn't going to bother looking for Sam and Bucky right now. They would eventually find their way to the penthouse at some point, and when they did, he would chew them out then. He had a rule about throwing a ball in the tower for a reason, and he thought that since they were grown ass adults that they would abide by the rule. He was obviously very mistaken. He really did feel like he was parenting the Avengers despite the fact that some of them were older than him.

"So what did our overgrown kids do this time?" Tony asks as they step onto the elevator and hits the button for the family floor.

"The usual."

When they arrive back to the penthouse and Stephen steps off the elevator, Valerie immediately runs over and latches onto one of Stephen's legs. She had been taking a nap on the couch while he meditated, so he unintentionally left her to wake up alone when he went to check on the crash he heard. He assumed he would be back in a couple of minutes, but then Bucky literally pushed him into a situation he couldn't get out of by himself. Valerie didn't like waking up alone, especially when she knew Stephen had been in the room with her when she fell asleep, so when she woke up without anyone in sight…

"Mama…" The little girl whimpers and Stephen pats her head.

"I know I wasn't here when you woke up. I'm sorry. You can help me ground Uncle Bucky and Uncle Sam when everyone comes up for dinner."

"Well Dad is going back down to the lab now that the crisis has been averted." Tony says as he presses the button in the elevator to go back down. "I'll be back up for dinner and hopefully our AI's will be back online."

The doors close and Stephen leads Valerie into the kitchen after directing the cloak to return to it's usual spot in the living room. While the sorcerer starts dinner, Athena joins them in the kitchen, making sure to stay out of Stephen's way, and lays on the floor so Valerie can pet her. It didn't take long for the little girl to find the grooming brush, and she brushed the wolf free of tangles. Valerie was surprisingly gentle with brushing so Athena wasn't bothered by it. Most two year olds were rough about brushing pets, but not Valerie.

As Stephen made dinner, the team and his three other children slowly made their way to the penthouse and spread out in the living room and the kitchen. The kids started a game of Uno, and Valerie was whisked away by Quill to the living room with the promise of stars, and Athena remained in her spot freshly groomed.

"Cub!" Stephen calls and Peter walks into the kitchen.

"Yeah Mom?"

"When Sam and Bucky come up, web them to the wall please."

"Really? Okay."

Peter returns to the living room and Steve gives the teen a funny look. "How did you know he was asking for you?"

"I dunno. I just did."

"It's the way he says it." Harley says as he puts a card down from his hand.

"I guess you kids would know the difference."

When Sam and Bucky finally show up, Stephen hands the reigns of cooking to Wanda when he hears the unmistakable sound of webs being shot. He walks into the living room with Athena loyally at his side and folds his arms in front of the two men stuck to the wall.

"What the heck? Peter webbed us for no reason!" Sam complains.

"There was a reason actually. I asked him to." Stephen informs them and watches Bucky wince.

"He knows Sam."

"Knows what?"

Stephen narrows his eyes at the two. "I know that you two were throwing a ball around the storage room. How do I know you may be wondering? I heard a crash, went downstairs to investigate, and was shoved into a closet. The cloak tried to help me but I ended up tangled in it and some Christmas lights."

Bucky frowns. "That was you?! I'm so sorry. I didn't see--"

"Obviously." Stephen interrupts. "Valerie?" The little girl looks over Quill's shoulder at the sorcerer. "What do you have to say to your uncles?"

"Gwounded!"

The two men didn't even protest. They knew there was no point since Stephen getting stuck in the closet was evidence enough of what they did, and the sorcerer stuck them with the traumatizing punishment of cleaning and organizing the storage room. He did get some groans of complaint for that, but nothing else as Peter removed the webs so they could move freely again. Stephen seriously considered leaving them there until the webs dissolved but figured cleaning the storage room was punishment enough. That floor was covered in boxes piled on top of each other, and no one wanted to even try cleaning it.

Now Sam and Bucky had to.

"Why were you two even down there?" Stephen asks as they wipe off the remaining webs.

"...we were looking for a ball." Sam mutters.

"You couldn't wait until you were outside to throw it? I have that rule for a reason."

"Man...you really are a mom." The darker male grumbles.

"And you're all my overgrown children." The sorcerer says as he walks back to the kitchen, and finds Tibbs standing on one of the stools and sniffing at the food. "No." Stephen says firmly and the cat backs away and sits down on the stool.

Tony made it back up to the penthouse when dinner was ready, announcing that Friday and Victor were back online so cameras were back on and everything was soundproofed again. When the soundproofing came up, both Quill and Scott's eyes widened.

"Oh yeah. I'm pretty sure the employees downstairs heard you two going at it in the meeting room." Natasha says with a smirk.

"Oh god." Scott whimpers.

"He's a screamer." Clint announces with a smirk.

There was a collective facepalm.

[tanjamikaelson]

LOVE FOR ETERNITY - PART 87

MASTERLIST

PART 87: | IN HERE I’M THE QUEEN |

・ • ・ • ・

You can shout or you can scream But it won't save you from the midnight trickery When the daylighy disappears, you'll find no shelter in this tangled web of fear

・ • ・ • ・

When they came back to Hayley’s house, Kol and Natali spent most of the night on the road close to the home and were feeding on a couple of humans that drove through there. 

Natali sat on the side of the road while Kol laid in the middle, hoping for their next victim to come speeding their way.

  - Natali sighed in frustration, “It’s hard living in the middle of nowhere. We should've gone to the closest city and wipe out one bar of humans.”

Kol shushed her as he saw headlights approaching from the distance. The car got close within a matter of seconds, nearly hitting Kol, before the tires screeched and a man that was in a car along with a woman, blared his horn, coming to a stop. Kol stood up as a driver got out.

  - “What the hell are you doing here, man?” The driver rudely asked.

  - “They always have to be so rude.” Natali remarks as she comes out of the shadows.

  - Kol nods in agreement, then looks at a man, “We just want to have fun.” 

  - “Fun? I could’ve killed you.” The man replies.

  - “You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.” Natali tells him and in a matter of seconds she rips out the door on one side of the car where a woman was sitting and pulls her out. Everything happened so quickly that humans took a moment to react.

Woman started screaming as Natali held her by her hair and pulled her towards Kol and a man.

  - “Leave her alone!” The man ordered.

  - Natali put the woman in a choke hold and turned her towards a man, “What if I don’t want to?” 

A man took a step towards her, but Kol quickly grabbed his arm and stopped him.

  - “Now don’t you think that I would protect my girl like you want to protect yours?” Kol questioned him.

A man knew that Kol had a point, so he raised his hand in an attempt to punch Kol, but using his vampire reflexes Kol stopped his fist. He looked at a man before his veins traveled underneath his eyes and he quickly leaned over and started feeling on his neck. A man began screaming until the life left his body, and Kol dropped him onto the ground.

Natali was still holding the woman who was now shivering and screaming for help even if no one was around to hear her. Natali smirked at Kol, as she bared her fangs and bit into the girl’s neck. She screamed out as Natali viciously fed on her. 

After being satisfied with feeding they went back to the house. Entering a house everything was deadly silent and they knew that everyone was already sleeping. 

Kol’s hands gripped Natali’s waist tightly pulling her closer to him and catching her lips hungrily. In a flash, Natali’s back hit a nearby wall and she gasped out in pleasure. She tilted her head as he started to kiss along her jaw, down her throat. She dragged her fingers into his hair, making incoherent sounds of pleasure. Within a moment, all of their clothes was removed.

  - “Turn around and lean on the wall.” Kol told her and she did as he said.

He raised her left leg forwards giving himself a space and leverage as he stood behind her. She felt his abdomen touching her back before he slips the tip of his shaft in her core slowly. She barely held her scream, when he plunged into her very fast and forcibly. 

Kol leaned forward supporting his head on the back of her neck. He started pulling out of her slowly and thrusting back inside her very strongly to elicit a gasp from her with every thrust. He kept her left leg raised with one hand while his other had kneaded her right breast strongly. He increased his pace and force and her body shook violently with each thrust till he felt her muscles clenching around him insanely. When he found her moans were getting uncontrollably louder he raised his right hand fast to her mouth to suppress her scream. 

For a moment, he could feel her squeezing him inside her, but he closed his eyes tightly and stopped moving trying not to come with her. He gave her a minute to rest, then turned her to face him. 

  - “I’m sure everyone heard us.” Natali tells him, out of breath.

  - “And I’m sure they are jealous.” Kol told her before he brushed her lips with his. She parted her mouth to allow his tongue to wander it in a deep kiss. 

She felt Kol pick her up and before she knew she was on the island in the middle of the kitchen on her back. He climbed on top of her and wasted no time to push himself into her once again. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him as close as possible. He buried his head into her neck and started to increase his pace. Moans and groans were the only sounds in the house until they both reached their climax and were left breathless.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

   - “Oh, here you are. Wherever there are booze and boobs.” Rebekah remarks as she enters the kitchen seeing Kol and Natali who were feeding on the housekeeper.

  - “Yeah, we came in here to have a quiet bite alone, thank you very much.” Kol informed his sister.

  - “And what about a quiet night? Some of us were trying to sleep.” Rebekah pointed out.

  - Kol laughs at her. “Don’t be jealous Bex, soon you will get laid too.”

  - “Eric must be somewhere, waiting for you to call him.” Natali tells her.

  - “Oh, shut up.” Rebekah says, showing her obvious frustration.

  - “You know we are right.” Natali told her, “And we are going to Saint Tropez to find Renee. Wanna come with us?” 

  - “First I have some thinking to do.” Rebekah said as she took a bottle of wine, “And I would like to do it near the expensive wine.” then she left the kitchen leaving them alone again.

  - “You think she will come with us?” Natali asks Kol.

  - “I’m sure she will.” Kol tells her, “Are you sure Renee is there?”

  - “Of course she is, she wanted that city all along.” Natali told him, “I can’t wait to see her face when she sees me.”

  - “She will be surprised as much as you were when you found out she was alive.” Kol said.

  - “Not just surprised, she will be terrified.” Natali added.

Later that day Kol and Natali headed out to find themselves some nice ride. Kol saw a blue convertible and headed that way, while Natali followed him.

  - “Nice car.” Kol complimented, “Hey, you mind if we borrow it?”

Both of them look at the man and see that his head was down. When Kol lifted his head he saw a gaping wound on the man’s neck, he was dead.

  - A low gust of wind was heated, before a familiar voice said, “I knew you’d like this car. You’re so predictable.” and there was Rebekah with blood dripping from her mouth. She leaned over the side of the car, with a smirk on her face.

  - “What are you doing?” Natali asked her.

  - Well, I'm due an adventure, and Saint-Tropez is as good a place as any.” Rebekah told them, “Besides, someone's got to keep you two out of trouble.”

  - Kol looks at Natali saying, “I told you, she can’t resist Saint Tropez.”

  - Natali smiles, “Get in the back, Bekah.” she tells her before moving to the passenger side of the car and Rebekah hopped in the back. 

Kol opens the door and pulls the man out of the car, he signs as he gets in and smiles at Rebekah and Natali before driving off into the night.

⚜ ��� ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

SAINT TROPEZ

・ • ・ • ・

Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time. I've got a list of names and yours is in red, underlined!

・ • ・ • ・

It was a night time in Saint Tropez when Natali, Kol and Rebekah arrived. Natali didn’t waste any time, so quickly after they arrived they went looking for Renee. They found out that she was in one of the clubs which Natali owned before she was killed.

When Natali walked into the club she magically turned off the music and brought attention to herself, “I don’t like what you did with my place.” she spoke loud and clear, knowing that Renee would hear her.

Renee was sitting with a few other vampires in a booth that was overlooking the whole club, a booth that Natali made specially for her and her friends. When Renee heard a familiar voice she froze in place.

  - “Don’t even think about hiding from me.” Natali spoke, before she vamp-speeded up stairs and appeared in front of the booth, “Hello, Renee.”

  - Renee swallowed a glump and was looking at Natali with wide eyes, “I killed you.” That was all she managed to say.

  - “You’re even more stupid than I thought if you thought that I would stay dead.” Natali tells her, then her eyes fell on a necklace Renee was wearing, and it was a necklace that Natali wore all the time, she couldn’t find it anywhere in New Orleans and now she knew why, “Where did you get this?” she asked as she ripped it off of Renee’s neck.

  - “You’re friend Megan brought it to me.” Renee replied, “She begged me to protect her and I couldn’t resist a gift like that. She is here somewhere if you want to punish her.”

  - Natali chuckles, “The only person I want to punish is you.”

Renee looked at the guy vampires who were sitting at the booth and they immediately stood up to face Natali. 

  - Natali looks at her in disbelief, “Really?” 

Two guys threw a punch at her and at the same time she blocks them and twists their arms before pushing them downstairs where Kol and Rebekah ripped their hearts out. 

  - “Why do you think that some 20 years old vampires could do anything to me?” Natali questioned her.

  - “Oh, I have one that is over nine hundred years old.” Renee stated and looked at him, “You might know him.”

  - When Natali looked at the same direction she saw him, “Eric? I never thought you and Megan would be traitors.” 

  - “I’m sorry Natali, we didn’t have a choice. You were dead and three years ago Megan’s scar reopened, we needed to hide somewhere from Rayna.” Eric tells her.

  - “And this was the only place to hide?” Natali questioned.

  - “You know it is.” Eric replies.

  - Natali looks back at Renee, “I know what you are trying to do. You want to turn me against my friends.”

  - “I don’t think they are your friends anymore. They have a new queen.” Renee tells her.

  - That sent Natali over the edge, “IN HERE I’M THE QUEEN!” she shouted.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

MASTERLIST

Tags: @mikaelsonsmagic   @p3nny4urth0ught5   @cute-freak27   @ias-born  @superhalsteads  @characterobsessed   @hinata7346   @luiza-4-ever  @huntress1428  @infiniteoblivion21 @watersenthusiast

[incorrect-spiderson]

Prompt 6 and 31 with Peter and Harley being brothers and dork 💜 and I wanted to know for how you have been writing? 💕

My boysssss!!! Anyways I have been writing for about 5 years?? It’s always been a passion of mine and I’m just now getting pretty good at it! So yeah!

Also, I wanted to explain a nickname that Harley uses for Peter! He calls him Peanut Butter because of his initials! P. B. P. I just thought it would be cute. Aaanyways enjoy!

🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁

If it was up to Pepper, they would be having date night on Christmas Eve. Just her and Tony, doing adult things. Though, she can’t ignore her momma bear instincts. She doesn’t want the kids alone on Christmas. Or ever, for that matter.

“HARLEY DID YOU PUT HAIR DYE IN MY SHAMPOO!”

That was her cue.

Pepper sets down her wine glass and starts towards the stairs. She drops the blanket off of her shoulders and goes after her boys. With each step she can more clearly hear their fighting.

“Pink looks good on you Peanut Butter.”

“Harley you absolute ass!”

“Oh it’s not that bad.”

“You’re the reason Santa even has a naughty list!”

“Really is that the best-”

As soon as Pepper opens the door, both boys freeze. Harley smirks triumphantly, leaning against the boys’ shared bunk bed. His ugly sweater reads “Santa’s favorite Ho”. Pepper turns to Peter and bites her lip. Her eyes widen and she tries (and fails) to hold back a chuckle. Peter is only wearing Morgan’s bright yellow banana towel. His pink curls clings to his face as he scowls at Harley.

Peter perks up a little bit and points to Harley. “Mom he dyed my hair pink! He is so, so lucky I’m going to pride in a few weeks otherwise I totally would have-”

Harley scoffs and pushes off of the bed. “Petey-Pie you wouldn’t’ve hurt a fly. Also, last week you filled my pillow with whipped cream.”

“The fly didn’t dye my hair pink! And the week before that you-”

Pepper holds up her hand and raises an eyebrow. The boys continue to go back and forth. Every few seconds, Pepper drops a finger. Peter catches on first and instantly stops.

“What? You ready to finally admit defeat PB?”

Peter slaps Harley’s arm and points to Pepper. Harley moves to hit him back but freezes. Once Harley realizes she’s on her last finger, he instead drops his hand and sighs. “Sorry Mom.”

Pepper smirks. “Okay, now that that’s settled, Harley go and check on dinner for me. Maybe start making the gravy. Peter go and help your dad set up the Christmas tree. He’s too short to get the star on the top without a ladder and you can walk on walls.”

Both boys sigh but mumble out agreements. Before Pepper leaves she peaks back through the door. “Oh and Petey... put on some clothes. It’s cold outside.”

Peter’s face instantly turns red as he sputters. Harley sprints out of the room in a fit of giggles, narrowly avoiding the pillow thrown at his head.

Pepper chuckles and shuts the door. Her boys truly are... something.

When May had passed away, they took Peter instantly. She can clearly remember the night when Peter showed up on their doorstep. It was storming outside, rain had been pounding against the window so hard she almost missed the knock at the door. Tony had been upstairs with Morgan, so she naturally answered it. What she hadn’t been expecting was the red, tear stained, soaking wet face of Peter Parker. Who had been clutching a familiar green sweater and a pair of circular glasses like his life depended on it.

To say the least, it had been a very, very long night.

Harley’s situation hadn’t been much better. Her and Tony had been watching Deadpool late at night when he got the call. Pepper couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but she could tell by the worry creases forming on Tony’s face that something was wrong. Suddenly, Tony had shoved the phone towards her while he pinched his nose to fight back tears. When she answered, to say she was surprised would be an understatement.

Harley had been in hysterics. She could barely tell what he was saying over his sobs. Until suddenly, his words had become crystal clear.

The Keeners were dead. Harley had been out with friends while his parents and little sister were grabbing ice cream. His family never made it home. In the same night Tony had gotten on a jet, flown to Tennessee at breakneck speeds, and only two hours after the call Harley was in her arms crying his heart out.

They’d both been through so damn much. Through things that teenage boys should never have to go through. Horrible, terrible things that people only hear about on the news and then never think of again. Every day she marvels at how much strength they both have.

“HARLEY KEENER I KNOW YOU DID NOT JUST STEAL MY COOKIE! GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE-”

Pepper smiles. She couldn’t be happier that they’re here. The tragedies were awful and she wishes every day that they would have never happened. But now, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

She loves her two boys with her entire being.

Pepper starts down the stairs, lazily sighing at the thought of getting back into her book and taking a sip of wine. She’s about half way down the stairs before she freezes.

Two boys.

Two of three kids.

Shit... where’s Morgan?

Pepper jogs back up the stairs and opens the door to her daughter’s room. She scans it quickly and then frantically moves on. She searches every room upstairs twice. Pepper gets ready to call for Tony when it hits her.

Literally.

“Ow! Shit..”

Pepper rubs her head where the Ironman action figure hit her. She gives a pained smile down to her little girl and shakes her head. “Sweetheart, if you throw things, please make sure they’re soft? Okay?”

Morgan’s face screws up in confusion. “But Momma, Ironman was wearing a tutu! Tutu’s are soft!”

Pepper glances down at the toy and realizes. Yes. Ironman is wearing a tutu. A bright pink tutu with little yellow and red sequins on it. Pepper picks up the toy and hands it back to Morgan. The little girl takes the toy and then wraps her arms around her mother’s neck.

Pepper sighs and lifts her daughter into her arms. “You’re lucky that you, little gremlin, happen to be acting more mature than your brothers right now.”

Morgan giggles and taps the action figure on Pepper’s shoulder. “Momma I always act more mature-er than them. They’re teenagers.”

Pepper laughs and starts down the stairs. “You aren’t wrong, gremlin. I think-”

“Oh god.. OH GOD! MOM HELP!”

Suddenly, everything else falls away. Pepper’s instincts take over and she’s racing down the stairs. She grips Morgan a little tighter and as soon as she hits the bottom of the stairs she sprints towards the living room. She’s .2 seconds away from calling her suit, then she pauses.

She had been expecting a lot of things. Burglars, Aliens, Ultron reincarnated. Hell, evil snowmen wouldn’t have been too surprising.

What she wasn’t expecting was her husband to be tangled up in tinsel while her son (who is stuck to the ceiling) is keeping the tree from falling on top of her tinsel-ified husband. Peter looks up (or is it down?) from his perch and sheepishly smiles.

“So uh... we had a slight problem.”

Pepper let’s out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. She puts Morgan on the ground and moves towards her husband. Tony smiles up at her mischievously.

“Hey hot stuff. All I need is a bow and-”

“Shush and let me get you out of there.”

After a few minutes of light bickering and un-tinseling, Tony is free. She helps put the tree back in place and turns back to Morgan.

“Sweetheart, it seems like you’re also more mature-er than daddy too.”

Tony’s face morphs into fake disgust. “Are you feeding our daughter lies? Pepper Potts-Stark, I thought you were better than that.”

Pepper just waves him off and starts towards the kitchen. “Whatever honey! Just try not to...”

Once again, Pepper freezes.

Harley is standing over the gravy. With green food dye. He spins to face her and his eyes widen. He glances back and forth from her to green gravy.

Once again, Pepper takes a deep breath. “Harley... Keener. Please. Please tell me you did not dye the gravy green.”

Harley purses his lips. “Well, I was raised not to lie-”

“BULLCRAP”, Peter chirps from the living room.

“- but yes. The gravy is now green.”

Pepper blinks. It’s just one thing after another with her family. “Okay, well... everyone come eat. Food is ready.”

Within two minutes the entire family is seated at the table with their plates piled high with food. Pepper sets the gravy on the table with a sigh.

Peter snickers. “Harley I knew you liked Green Eggs and Ham but this is a bit overboard.”

Harley rolls his eyes. “Coming from Pinkie Pie-”

“Harley I swear-”

Pepper sighs. “Boys. Do I have to start counting?”

Both freeze. They look at each other and then at the ground. “No mom.”

The table falls silent as everyone digs in. The peace doesn’t last long though. Does it ever?

“Oh.. oh god. Bleh! That’s nasty.. Pep what did you put in this?”

Pepper holds up her hands in surrender. “I went by the recipe. Harley on the other hand...”

Harley gasps in feign innocence. “Mom! How dare you accuse me of-”

Pepper raises an eyebrow. Harley pauses for a moment, then sighs. “Okay fine I may or may not have accidentally dropped the cinnamon and it may or may not have gotten on the food.”

Peter tips back his chair and groans. “Harley are you trying to kill me?”

“Not yet.”

“Well don’t feel bad,” Tony sighs, “you didn’t completely ruin Christmas dinner. There’s still this... jello stuff.”

“Yeah!” Morgan squeals. “It’s got marshmallows and fruit and everything in it!”

Pepper takes in the laughing faces of each family member and smiles. Their family is far from perfect. Very, very far.

But, even though they might be the strangest family on the planet, she wouldn’t change a single thing.

🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁

Bonus:

🎶 “DECK THE HALLS WITH WEBS FROM SPIDEY”

“Peter, I beg you, stop. You’re hurting my poor Tennessee ears.”

🎶”THWIP THWIP THWIP THWIP THWIP, TWIP TWIP, THWIP THWIP”

“Mom make it stoooop.”

“Harley he’s expressing himself”

“I don’t think expressing yourself through torture is a good thing”

🎶 “DON WE NOW OUR BI APPAREL”

“I give up. Morgan, wake me up when I leave hell.”

“Okay.... What’s hell?”

🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌🎁🦌

AHHHH THIS WAS SO FUN!!

I would love and appreciate some feedback from y’all! Hope you love this!!

[kiwiana-writes]

Dialogue prompts 3 and 27????????? For david and Patrick of course. Thank youuuuuuuu 💜💜💜💜💜

#3: “It’s three in the morning” and #27: “Tell me again”

Thank you so much for this wonderful prompt combo! Anxiety is the theme of this, just in case anyone wants or needs a heads up for that ❤️

MAYBE YOU COULD COME AND COMFORT ME for @bellamie-blake [rated T, 996 words]

You can read this on AO3 here if you prefer!

~*~

Patrick knows he’s spiralling. Unfortunately, no amount of telling himself it’s just an anxiety spiral has ever been able to pull him out of one — which is why he’s sitting in his office at some ungodly hour, the room lit only by the backglow of his laptop as he double- and triple- and quadruple-checks the formulae in his spreadsheet, instead of lying in bed wrapped up in the arms of his husband.

“Patrick?”

The husband he’s summoned just by thinking about him, apparently. David is sleep-rumpled and squinty and gorgeous, hair sticking up in all directions as he carefully approaches the desk.

“Honey, it’s three in the morning. What are you doing?”

Is it? Patrick blinks, peering at the clock in the corner of the screen that speaks the truth to David’s words. He’d slipped out of bed a little after midnight, once David’s breathing had softened into snores and Patrick had realised even his post-orgasmic haze wasn’t enough to shut his brain up.

“Just working on some spreadsheets,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. But four and a half years of marriage have left them with the ability to read each other like a native tongue, and David just rolls his eyes before reaching past him. His hand rests on the top of the screen for a moment, giving Patrick a chance to object or save his work if he needs to, but when Patrick stays silent he flips the lid shut and plunges the room into darkness again.

“Come and panic in bed, it’s much more comfortable,” David says wryly and Patrick is powerless to resist; he takes David’s hand, letting his husband lead him through the silent house and into their bedroom. They both climb into bed and then David unceremoniously pushes and pulls at him until he takes the hint and rolls over, his back pressed to David’s chest as David wraps his arms tightly around him, one large hand splayed across Patrick’s heart.

“Okay,” David murmurs in his ear once they’re settled. “Talk me through the plan. Tell me again.”

They’ve known each other seven years and sometimes, Patrick still feels a rush of love so overwhelming it takes him right back to their earliest days. Because David understands, instinctively, Patrick’s need to talk things through; knows that if he doesn’t talk them out he swallows them down into a tangled, churning mess in his gut that quickly becomes impossible to unravel.

Patrick takes a deep breath before letting it go, bringing his hand up to rest on top of David’s and lacing their fingers together. “This is the right time to expand,” he says steadily, as if it’s nothing more than a case study for business school. “The motel contract is set to increase again when they move into the next five states this spring. The store profits are consistent and web sales are trending upward. Elm Lake is close enough that we have some name recognition, but far enough away that sales there won’t impede on the Schitt’s Creek foot traffic too much.”

David hums, pressing a kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck and Patrick finds himself relaxing into it almost despite himself. “And the numbers?” David prompts softly.

Right. The numbers. The numbers Patrick has been staring at for three hours, sure he’s made a mistake, convinced he’s made a mistake, terrified they’re going to lose their store and then their house and then David will run away to New York and never speak to him again.

Right. Spiralling.

“The numbers,” Patrick croaks, clearing his throat. “We can cover staffing and overheads at the new location for two years without it turning a profit, as long as our current sales don’t dip more than 20% below our lowest quarter in the last two years. We can track that month by month and if things start to dip, we can jump on top of it. Get some community engagement going.”

“And while I’m sure you’re dying for a chance to embarrass me at another open mic night,” David murmurs, “I really don’t think we need to be too concerned about that. The numbers look good; really good. I should know — my numbers guy is an expert.”

Patrick laughs almost despite himself, twisting around so they’re facing each other. David’s right. He’s right, and the knot in Patrick’s stomach is, if not untangled, at least releasing its stranglehold on his internal organs. “Tell me more about this numbers guy,” he says with a small smirk. “Should I be jealous?”

“Oh, very,” David says seriously. “He comes into the store in his tight jeans and his button-ups, and he puts the little rubber things on his fingers and I have all sorts of impure thoughts about what I could do to him at his computer desk. Or what he could do to me.”

Patrick shakes his head, a grin stretching his face as he leans in and captures David’s lips with his own. “Thank you, David,” he says when he pulls back. “And I’m so—”

David claps a hand over his mouth before he can finish. “You know the rules,” David says sternly, and he does; no apologising for bad days. Still, he can’t resist the eyeroll — nor can he resist nipping the soft flesh of David’s palm, laughing at the squawk of indignation it elicits as David pulls his hand away.

“You’re a menace,” David grumbles. Then, softer, “Think you can get to sleep now?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, nestling closer so his cheek is pressed up against David’s chest. In the silence he can hear David’s heartbeat, sure and steady; tries to match his breathing to the rise and fall of David’s chest. “Love you,” he mumbles, and feels David’s arms squeeze him tight for a moment before letting go.

David says something in reply, Patrick is sure; he can feel the vibrations underneath his cheek, but he’s too close to sleep to make out the words.

[Dialogue prompts] // [ASKS OPEN FOR THESE!]

[boy-blu3]

Photography- Peter Parker

Author: nerdymoose

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: A simple return of a camera lens reveals Peter's biggest secret...

Warnings: Peter being an absolute dork. Fluff.

A/N: This is similar to how Ned found out about Peter. Requests are always open! Especially during quarantine. Feedback is always appreciated. Comments, likes, and reblogs are ALWAYS great, don't be afraid! Stay safe! I hope you like it! (✿ ♥‿♥)

===============

Peter was studying with Ned, at least that's what Y/n was told. So it wouldn't hurt to just stop by and return his lens, right?

Y/n knocked on the door to his apartment, knowing May was home but would be leaving soon for work. The door swung open to a very out of breath May. "Hey, honey. Come on in." She stepped aside letting you in.

"Running late again?" Y/n asked, it was a normal occurrence for May to be running late.

"Is it that obvious. I still have to get my hair and makeup done and I only have 15 minutes." She said rushing to her room, while Y/n followed. "And I can't seem to find my shoes."

Y/n frowned, she didn't like to see May stressed. May was like a mother to her ever since the fourth grade, when she met Peter. "Well, how 'bout I do your hair while you're doing your makeup? And I know where your shoes are. With a little team work we can get you to work on time."

"I swear you're an angel. How do you know where my shoes are? I've been looking for them for the past hour." She walked into Peter's room, grabbing them, walking back out and giving them to May.

"Peter said you would lose them, so he put them in his room so he'd know where they are, but I guess he forgot to give them to you before he left. But that's why he also told me just in case he forgot."

May gave her a look, a look that Y/n couldn't read, it kinda scared her until, "when are you going to marry my nephew?"

Her cheeks turned bright red, she let out a nervous laugh. "I-I-um we're running out of time, let's get your hair done an-and stuff." May smirked at her sudden change of subject but walked into her bathroom nonetheless.

A comfortable silence fell over them, Y/n French braiding May's hair as she did her own makeup. By the time Y/n was done May had also finished, May checked the time on her phone. "Just in time. Bye, honey, I'll see you later."

"Bye." May closed the door on her way out. Leaving Y/n alone, with her own thoughts. She blushed again at the thought of marrying Peter.

She hated her feelings, she had the fact the she could only admire Peter from afar. She knew that Peter didn't feel the same way, how could he, he was sweet, kind, smart, and extremely good looking. He was everything. And to her, she was just an average girl, that there was nothing special about her.

She sighed, grabbing her camera bag and walking to Peter's room. Not hearing the window to his room open, she pushed open his door and saw Peter pulling off his mask that went with the rest of his suit.

She froze, not believing what she was seeing. Peter is spiderman. Her camera bag dropped out of her hand, long forgotten. The noise it made when hitting the floor startled Peter, he turned around and went pale.

"You're spiderman?!" She shrieked.

"No l-um-" He knew that he couldn't run, he just stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"My best friend is spiderman. And don't lie to me. You can't lie to me. For how long? Who else knows? Does May know? I know Ned knows, he knows everything thing. You risk your life everyday without my knowledge! When were you going to tell me? Is this what the Stark internship is?" She stopped pacing the floor, looking at Peter, realizing that she was rambling. She knew every answer to every question, knowing Peter for so long she knows how he thinks.

She took a deep breath, calming down. "So do you make the web fluid yourself?"

Peter, still in shock, nodded. "You can't tell anyone. No, may doesn't know, she would freak out. I didn't want you to know because it could put you in danger."

"I wouldn't dream of tell anyone, Peter. You have an A.I. connected to your suit right? I mean, I know Tony Stark made your suit and I wanna know if I can be contacted when you get hurt."

He chuckled, loving the fact that you want to protect him no matter what. "Yeah there is, her name is Karen."

"Good. Now I have a reason to build a map of the city and I'll put a seperate tracker in your suit, so I can track you around the city and tell you what places to avoid and what places to be." She grabbed a notebook and started sketching her ideas, making prints on how she going to build it.

"Y/n, I don't know if Mr. Stark is going to be okay with that." He said nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"He decided to make my best friend an Avenger, he's going to have to deal with it. Oh, by the way I came here to return your lens."

Y/n didn't notice that Peter was staring at her until she looked up at him and met his gaze. "What?" She chuckled.

"Do you know how much I love you?" Peter said, with his newfound confidence. But what he said made her turn 10 different shades of red, setting her notebook down.

"Wh-what?"

"I'm serious, you're extremely smart, funny, beautiful, and I love your level of sarcasm. But what I love mostly is your need to protect the ones you love. If you don't love me back that's fine, I just couldn't hold it in anymore."

Y/n smiled so big her cheeks started to hurt, which made hope shine in Peter's eyes. "Really?" She asked, " 'Cause even though I've never been that good with emotions, especially love and I keep some of my walls up, you know why. I love you too. I have for a long time, now. I mean, how could I not, look at you, you're everything every girl wants." She looked everywhere but him, not wanting to gauge his reaction to her, what she was a crappy confession.

As she was talking Peter had moved closer to her, she didn't notice. She gasped when he grabbed her waist, not expecting him to be so close. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders, fingers tangled in the short curls on the back of his neck.

"Can- can I kiss you?"

"You know I always say there's no such thing as a stupid question but that right there is a stupid question." She chuckled, pulling him impossibly closer, their lips barely touching. He rolled his eyes, but the smile never left his lips, "so the answer is yes, please kiss me."

Peter didn't need to be told twice, his lips met yours. It was slow, sweet, passionate. Everything Y/n ever dreamed of, his lips were as soft as they looked, he tasted like fresh mint, it was intoxicating. There was so much love in just one kiss that it made her head spin.

They pulled apart, the burn from the lack of oxygen became too much. They pressed their foreheads together, "will you be my girlfriend?"

"Again with the stupid questions, Parker." She laughed.

"I'll take that as a yes." He pulled her in for another kiss. "I love you." He mumbled against her lips.

"I love you too."

[petersmparker]

Clutch pt 2 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Unexpected things always happen on patrol, with New York being the unpredictable city that it is, but least of all does he expect this meeting.

Word Count: 1460

A/N: this one didn’t seem to want to come out w the sound I was going for but I think it’s decent anyway. what the FUCK is up, fic? no- step the FUCK up, fic!! (side note: this is my first fic w the makings of a tag list. send me an ask if you’d like to be added!)

INTRO PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7

School ends as slowly as always. Peter shouts a quick goodbye to Ned before running off, excited to begin another evening of patrol. He stops at a corner store to grab a soda and a bag of chips while on his way to the usual closed off alley where he stores his backpack. It’s a quick process of ripping off his clothes to pull on his suit. After stuffing his  clothes into his backpack, he launches himself into the air and webs the stuff to the wall in one swift movement.

The process of swinging around is one well-ingrained to Peter’s body after over a year of doing so. It’s a massive city and seems even bigger from the sky, but he’s traversed it enough to have committed to memory streets he’d never even walked. By now, he’s pinpointed a handful of perches that offer a good vantage point for surveyal. The time passes quickly as he moves from destination to destination, keeping an eye open for any signs of crime.

At around six, while he’s sat on the edge of a roof finishing his chips, he spots a child crying on a bench. By her shouting, he can easily tell that she’s lost her mother. He’s not sure how to talk to kids, really, but luckily she seemed to cheer up just by the appearance of Spider-Man. He buys her a soft pretzel and the crying stops entirely. She insists on being carried, which he doesn’t mind, but can imagine is probably a weird image for him to be walking around bouncing an infant on his hip– even for everyone’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, who’s already a bit of an enigma. 

They don’t stray too far from the bench, as Peter assumes that the missing parent will backtrack for her child. The little girl can’t remember where they live or where they had been going, so the two window shop at the nearby stores. She polishes off the pretzel in five minutes flat, and in hopes of keeping her from becoming overwhelmed again he attempts to do impressions of Tony Stark while they look at the Iron Man action figures in a toy store window.

“Look how pretty!” the girl calls, apparently unimpressed by Peter’s (admittedly not-that-good) impressions,  as she points into the window of an adjacent formalwear store.

Peter turns to look toward the store and at first doesn’t realize what the little girl is referring to. “Wow!” he exclaims, walking them a few steps closer, “What a sparkly dress!”

While he can’t claim to have much interest in the poofy, bedazzled semi-formal dress set up on a mannequin in front of him, he attempts to put as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible.

She turns to give him a look that expresses more disdain than Peter had believed a child was capable of. “Nooooo!” She groans, throwing her arm out again with more emphasis.

He follows her direction again and this time his eyes land on the person standing just behind the mannequin. Immediately, his heart leaps into his throat. “O-Oh.”

Inside the store is his girl. Well- no- not his girl. But the girl. You. You’re facing away from the window, looking into a mirror. Peter watches as you smooth the front of your tea-length silver dress and brush the hair over your shoulders. Some hair tangles in one of your earrings, and you lean in to the mirror for a closer look while you attempt to untangle it. In the reflection,  you spot Peter and the little girl staring and turn around to give them a confused look.

Peter is suddenly overcome with embarrassment for being caught. He’s overwhelmingly grateful for his mask for hiding his reddened face. The little girl in his arms giggles and waves exaggeratedly. After a moment, you smile and wave back, albeit shyly. Peter receives a smack to the chest and he finds himself throwing up his arm to wave, too. You suddenly depart into the curtain-covered dressing room. He sees the dress fall around your ankles after a moment, and he whips around so quickly that the girl in his arms shouts in surprise.

Luckily for him, any and all embarrassed and awkward panic is immediately halted when a relieved voice shouts, “Honey! Oh my god, my baby!”

A stricken-looking woman is rushing toward them with her arms outstretched. “There you are! I’m so sorry, sweetheart!”

“Mommy!” Cries the girl in his arms, and leans out to fall into her mother’s arms.

Her mother clutches her tightly, crying and attempting to regain her composure. She’s saying a stream of  thank-you’s that Peter modestly attempts to wave away. The woman surges forward to press a loud smooch to Peter’s cheek, punctuating her insistent gratitude. Before he can even begin to form a response, the woman leaves with her child. He nearly fails to wave again in response to the child’s “Goodbye, Spider-Man!”

Overcome with the surprise of being kissed, Peter stands staring, having forgotten the presence of his crush a mere twenty feet away. It truly is a brutal reminder when the bell above the door rings behind him and he feels the pressure of a hand tapping on his shoulder. His breath catches. Slowly, he turns to acknowledge you.

You’re wearing a different outfit, but you’re smiling like before. A little bit of hair is still tangled around the earring, and the strands rest weirdly against your slightly pink cheeks. Peter finds it so endearing that his chest hurts at the sight of it.

“Hey,” Peter says, unsure.

“Hello there. For the city’s resident vigilante, you seem great with kids.”

“Really? Do you like kids?”

You suck air in through your teeth with an air of awkwardness, which Peter is quick to assume means ‘no’. The extreme raising of your eyebrows confirms his belief. “That’s okay, I guess?” Peter offers, “Not everyone does. I may be good with them, but…”

“I don’t know how to interact with them,” you admit, before sticking out your hand. “Y/N.”

His brain nearly short-circuits at the name he’s waited weeks to learn. Peter takes your hand to shake it and feels his heart creep into his throat at the contact. “Ah! Uh. I’m Spider-Man. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, before adding somewhat awkwardly, “You looked really nice in that dress. She thought you were pretty, too. The little girl.”

You turn a delightful shade of pink, but look begrudging. It takes an inappropriate amount of self control not to reach out and touch your cheek, and the fact that he can’t be the one to untangle the strands of hair from your earring is extremely disappointing.

Oh, jeeze, Pete. Creepy much?

He’s mentally berating himself when you thank him, and he nearly misses it when you mumble a comment about how you’re not sure you’ll ever find the right homecoming dress.

Peter accidentally cuts you off when he says, “You found it. It was that one.”

After a moment of surprise, he watches your eyes gravitate toward the rack just inside the window where the silvery dress clearly hangs. Your expression cycles through various stages of questioning. Eventually, you seem to come to a tentative decision.

Peter’s so focused on your face that doesn’t realize you’ve reached out to him until he feels your fingers wrap around his wrist.

“I’m sure you’re busy, but-”

Your voice is overshadowed by the screech of a car’s tires and the blare of police sirens as several vehicles rush past. Any other day, at any other time, Peter would have been absolutely thrilled by the prospect of stopping a car chase. Right now, with the girl he’s infatuated with holding his wrist and asking him for help, nothing could be more of a disappointment. But he understands where his priorities must stay, and so do you. With an understanding smile, you let go of him. “They’re calling for you.”

Desperately, Peter wants to stay. The sirens are getting quieter as the chase moves further away, and he knows that he needs to go before they escape even his heightened sense of hearing.  There isn’t much time to waste. He reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder when he says, “Get that dress. You look incredible in it. Trust me.”

Peter doesn’t stay long enough to see or hear any semblance of a reaction, but the boldness of his actions leave him with a tingling in his body that makes it ever so slightly more difficult to focus on the swerving of the speeding car he helps to stop. His first real car chase, and all he can think about is a beautiful girl.

He can’t even bring himself to be disappointed.

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